A Secret of Spells
by Lil Drop Of Magic
Summary: While attempting to rescue Sirius Black from Professor Flitwick's office, an accident sends Harry and a Hermione to a world they could never imagine. They must protect their new identities carefully and find a way to get back to where they belong before someone realises how a little magic could change the tide in the game of thrones.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. The Song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R R Martin. I am just borrowing their worlds, characters and some of their dialogue, mixing them together and having a bit of fun.

Author's Note – This is madness, utter madness. I don't really know why I'm even attempting to Crossover these book series. I'm not even going to pretend like this is ever going to be decent writing. It's just a bit of fun. At first, I wondered why barely anyone had done any crossovers with GoT and HP but as I started to have a go at this, I realised that it's because A Song of Ice and Fire is just so bloomin' complicated!

Anyway, this is just me putting feelers out to see if anyone's interested.

* * *

"Look!" Hermione whispered. "Who's that? Someone's coming back out of the castle!"

Harry stared through the darkness. The man was hurrying across the grounds, towards one of the entrances. Something shiny glinted in his belt.

"Macnair!" said Harry. "The executioner! He's gone to get the Dementors! This is it, Hermione –"

Hermione put her hands on Buckbeak's back and Harry gave her a leg up. Then he placed his foot on one of the lower branches of the bush and climbed up in front of her. He pulled Buckbeak's rope back over his neck and tied it to the other side of his collar like reins.

"Ready?" he whispered to Hermione. "You'd better hold on to me – " He nudged Buckbeak's sides with his heels.

Buckbeak soared straight into the dark air. Harry gripped his flanks with his knees, feeling the great wings rising powerfully beneath them. Hermione was holding Harry very tightly around the waist; he could hear her muttering, 'Oh, no – I don't like this – oh, I _really_ don't like this -"

Harry urged Buckbeak forwards. They were gliding quietly towards the upper floors of the castle. Harry pulled hard on the left-hand side of the rope to make Buckbeak turn but as he did he heard Hermione sneeze. Her grip on him loosened, then was gone completely. Hermione's scream echoed in his ears and without thinking, Harry launched himself after her. He managed to grab a fistful of her robe as his foot caught in Buckbeak's reins. The Hippogriff shrieked at the discomfort of having Harry and Hermione's full weight pulling him down around his neck.

Harry clutched the hem of Hermione's robe tightly. In the gloom he could just make out that his grip on her clothes had turned her the right way up again, the sleeves of her robe cutting under her armpits. The silky material was started to slip from his fingers, not helped by the erratic movements Buckbeak was making to try and keep them all aloft. He couldn't see the ground but he knew it was there, a few hundred feet below.

"Hermione, give me your hand," he called, trying to sound like everything was under control.

"I…I can't." She choked out in reply. "If I lift my arms up the robe will slip off me before you can get my hand."

Harry cursed, knowing that was true. He tried to take a firmer grip on her robes but his palms were already slick with sweat and his muscles were burning ferociously. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

Buckbeak shrieked again and they bashed in to the side of castle. The Hippogriff's flying was becoming increasingly unstable. Hermione seemed to have realised the same thing.

"Let me go, Harry," She sobbed, "If we stay like this much longer, we'll both die."

"No!" he yelled. How could she even think that was a possibility? "We're going to be all right. You've just got to get your arms out of the robe so you can hold on to it by wrapping it around your hand." He couldn't save her with what little strength he had. They needed magic. It was the only way. "With your hand free hand, get out your wand and _save_ us!"

Thankfully, she didn't argue or hesitate, but reacted quickly to his instructions. The material of her robe twisted and pulled underneath his fingertips as she carefully freed her arms. "That's it, Hermione. You've nearly done it," he managed to say between his clenched teeth. Her movements made them both sway wildly but a sudden yank on the fabric let him know that she was now holding on with her own hand. He let loose a ragged breath. All Hermione had to do now was levitate them or make herself weightless – something she could probably do in her sleep. They were going to be okay.

And then Buckbeak plunged.

The sudden movement released his foot from the hippogriff's reins and he and Hermione were free falling. Harry managed to find her hand too late as the world whipped past them. They screamed in unison, the Hogwarts grounds rushing up to meet them. Something gold glinted in front of his eyes and his Quidditch instincts made him grab it tightly. It was only the pain slicing into his palm that made him remember the tiny time travel device Hermione had on her chain. But already, what little he could see was dissolving into complete darkness.

They were still falling but it didn't feel like they were falling _down_. They were falling backwards, turning over and over. Harry felt like he was being pulled apart then squeezed together again. It didn't feel like the last time he had travelled through time. This was wrong. As inexperienced as he was in time travel, he still knew this was very wrong.

He could see nothing, not even Hermione, but he knew she was with him because he could hear her screams and her fingernails were digging into his other hand.

It felt like they'd been falling for hours but, perhaps it had been only minutes? Seconds, maybe? Hermione's scream still stretched on. Surely she needed to stop and breathe at some point, Harry thought.

He tried to move some part of his body but it was as though he no longer had any control over it. Hermione's scream was starting to fade. _No, don't leave me._ He attempted to grip her hand harder but whether his fingers obeyed or not, he couldn't tell. Her scream was gone, even the pain in his hands was dissipating. Everything was fading into the darkness. Harry fought against it, he didn't know what would happen if he were to lose himself in it, but it was like trying to keep water from seeping through your fingers. His thoughts gradually trickled away until he succumbed completely to the darkness.

* * *

Lord Eddard Stark sat on his favoured mossy stone next to the heart tree. The breeze sighed through the branches of the weirwood, the red leaves fluttering like butterflies and Ned was reassured, as always, that the gods were with him. Whether they would answer his prayers or not, that was up to them, but he knew they had heard and that was what mattered.

He got to his feet, just about to turn away from the weirwood and its pool, when the sound of snapping branches overhead made him look up. As he watched, two figures plummeted out of the sky, landing in the rippling pool with such force that his legs were soaked with water.

Ned frowned. He certainly hadn't asked the gods for that to happen.

* * *

A/N Thank you for reading. Can we ignore the lameness of the 'broken time-turner' plot device, please? Cheers.

Lil Drop of Magic


	2. Chapter One

A/N Thank you all for acknowledging this story by follows, favourites and reviews – it means a lot.

* * *

Chapter One

It took Ned perhaps two seconds to react to what he had seen. After all, it wasn't every day that you saw two people fall from the sky.

He dove into the dark, freezing water of the godswood's pool, forcing himself deeper to find the strangers. The water was so dark that he could see nothing. He wasn't even sure which way was up or down. He just kicked and spread his arms wide, hoping to make contact with one of them. His arm bumped something and his fingers thrashed out to grab it. It felt like an arm so he moved his hand along it until he felt what could only be fingers. Ned reached out further to grab the body that the arm was connected to. Then he kicked his legs and heaved towards what he hoped was upwards. He found the body heavier than he was expecting, but he dared not take too long getting this one to the surface; he was sure there'd been two figures entering the lake.

Ned's head emerged from the numbing water and he sucked in a breath, dragging the body with him to the edge of the pool. He pushed it on to the firm, grassy floor of the godswood and realised why it had seemed heavier – its hand was clasped tightly to that of the other person. Relieved that he didn't have to dive down into the shadowy depths again. He pulled himself out of the pool, the icy water streaming from his hair and clothes. Then he bent down and dragged the two figures a safe distance away from the pool.

Neither of the strangers was conscious so he bent over the first one, his ear against their chest. He could hear a heartbeat but whether it belonged to the figure or was actually his own blood pumping ferociously through his head, he couldn't tell. He moved his head towards the mouth, his eyes watching the chest closely. Yes, this one was breathing. Ned moved to the other mysterious stranger and repeated his actions. The second one was breathing too.

Only then, relieved that the immediate danger seemed to have passed, did Ned take a proper look at what, or rather, _who_, he had rescued. They were a boy and a girl, or rather, a man and woman nearly grown, for they looked to be of an age with his sons Robb and Jon. The boy's hair was as dark as the wings of Maester Luwin's ravens. _Dark wings, dark words,_ Ned thought, but tried to dismiss it; he would come to no conclusion about these strangers until he found out more about them. Over his eyes, the boy wore a strange item that appeared to be made partly by clear glass. Ned frowned, for he couldn't imagine that having glass so close to your eyes could be particularly safe if it was broken. He could just make out the point of a scar disappearing under the boy's sodden hair, the red line standing out in stark contrast against his pale skin. But that was the only evidence of any possible mistreatment to either of them except the girl's bottom lip looked a little swollen and bloodied. Both he and the girl seemed to have been well taken care of, at least from what he could see that wasn't covered by their clothes.

The clothes themselves though, were of a peculiar nature. The girl wore a plain white shirt accompanied by a strip of red and gold material that was tied about her neck. Her grey skirts were separated from the shirt and several inches shorter than anything he could remember seeing any woman or girl wear in the Seven Kingdoms, leaving her slender legs uncovered. Her feet were encased in grey, woollen socks and what looked like black leather shoes that were of a style he was unfamiliar with.

The boy's style of dress matched the girl's except he wore grey breeches in place of the skirts and he was wearing what looked like a sort of black cloak. At first, Ned thought that the girl was without one but then he spotted the girl's other hand was wrapped around one as well. A red and gold motif stood out against the dark material and he bent down to take a closer look. His back prickled uncomfortably at the sight of a lion on a quartered field of red and gold. _Lannisters_.

But the more Ned thought about it, the more he doubted that these two were associated with Casterly Rock. There was no denying that the coat of arms displayed on the boy's cloak was eerily similar to that of House Lannister but this was _not_ the Lannister arms that he knew and he highly doubted Tywin Lannister would change hundreds of years of tradition. Not only that, but Ned knew that the Lannisters were too clever to attempt to secretly plant any of their men in Winterfell with such obvious Lannister affiliation. He prised the black cloak out of the girl's grasp and saw that hers too was emblazoned with the faux-Lannister arms. Across the bottom of the arms was what Ned assumed was writing. The letters were utterly unfamiliar to him. He had a very limited knowledge of the tongues spoken across the narrow sea therefore it was possible that the origin was from one of the free cities, the lands of the Summer Sea or even the lands beyond.

He needed answers.

He needed Maester Luwin.

The problem was he didn't want to leave the boy and girl on their own; should they regain consciousness when Ned wasn't there, he didn't know what they'd do. Nor did he want anyone else to know about them. Given their unusual arrival in Winterfell, he thought it best not to alert anyone to their presence for the moment.

Making a decision, Ned untwined their hands and lifted the girl effortlessly into his arms, before carrying her over to a small tree with wide, low hanging branches. Carefully, he placed her at the foot of the tree, before putting the boy next to her. Ned took a few paces back to determine whether it was a suitable hiding place. The pale flesh of the girl's legs stood out harshly against the gloom of the earth and foliage. It wouldn't do for anyone to discover the girl in that state so he covered her with the cloak she had been holding. Stepping back again, he saw that although it was obvious to him that there were two unconscious figures at the base of the tree, he highly doubted that anyone else would notice.

Moving quickly now, he left the godswood and made for the Maester's turret, using one of the lesser used wooden gates to get to his destination more quickly. Luckily, he passed very few people on his way to the turret. Those he did, he greeted with a confident nod of the head as they paused, bowed and murmured, "M'Lord." If any of them found it odd that he was completely sodden, they didn't comment on it.

He climbed the stairs of the turret two at a time, hoping that the Maester was within. The door to the Maester's solar stood ajar and Ned knocked swiftly before entering. Inside, Maester Luwin looked up from where he'd been tutoring Ned's sons Robb and Jon.

Ned could feel each of their eyes taking in his wet clothing but he did not intend to involve his sons in the matter just yet.

"Maester Luwin I have need of your services." He instructed, attempting to downplay the importance of the situation for he knew that if anything caught the boys' interest, he would be hard pressed to keep them away from it. "Boys, you will continue your lesson later. Go find Ser Rodrick and train for an hour. Take Theon with you."

"Yes, Father." Jon and Robb put down their quills obediently but Ned could see the questions building behind their eyes. However, they both knew better than to voice their questions when their father had deliberately not involved them in matters. Robb and Jon left, with last lingering looks at his dripping clothes before walking stiffly down the steps. Ned shut the wooden door to prevent his words travelling.

"How can I be of assistance, my lord?" Maester Luwin asked as he packed away the parchment and quills.

"Two figures appeared in the godswood," Ned replied bluntly. He didn't have time to waste with too many words – not when he had left the boy and girl on their own, unconscious. "They landed in the pool by the heart tree. I retrieved them but both are unconscious, yet breathing. I would have you assess their condition."

Maester Luwin's brows were furrowed in confusion. "I – why, yes, my lord, of course." Ned nodded and opened the door, knowing the Maester would be following. They had descended only a few of the stone steps before Maester Luwin's curiosity forced him to speak. "My lord, you said they _appeared_. May I enquire at the choice of words? It –"

"I will offer further explanation when we are in the godswood."

"Yes, my lord."

They descended the rest of the steps in silence and were soon out in the cool summer afternoon. They came across no one this time as Ned retraced his steps to the godswood and he was very relieved to find the boy and girl hidden just as he had left them.

Maester Luwin knelt down and Ned forced some of the branches out of the way so that he could examine them without the irritant of twigs and leaves.

"How long were they in the water, my lord?" Maester Luwin asked as his hands checked various parts of the two bodies.

"No more than half a minute."

"And how did they come to be in the water?"

"They fell. I heard snapping branches, I looked up and these two fell from the sky into the pool." Ned explained, as precisely as he could. The maester's mouth opened slightly and his eyes flickered to a dozen locations. "That is what I saw." Ned reaffirmed, though Maester Luwin had voice no doubts.

Maester Luwin nodded but looked as bewildered as Ned felt. "It is as you say, my lord, they are unconscious but it appears you rescued them before they inhaled or swallowed any water. Do you believe them to have been unconscious before entering the pool?"

Ned thought back for a moment. "I heard no indication that either of them was aware of their descent – no cries or screaming." Maester Luwin nodded again, looking grave. "I can offer no explanation for their arrival or where they have come from. The only hint is the arms they both wear." He pointed to the lion on the girl's cloak and Maester Luwin drew it towards him for a closer look, inadvertently revealing her bare legs. The Maester gave Ned a shocked look at the flesh he had uncovered but words did not need to be exchanged. This was only a small part of the greater mystery.

Maester Luwin turned his attention to the crest, a frown heavily marring his features. "It is not a Lannister lion," he announced gravely, "but its similarities should not be ignored."

"A poor imitation?" Ned asked. A soft cracking sound made him turn his head to the left, but he could see nothing.

"If it is, then it's a _very_ poor imitation." Maester Luwin conceded. "It would fool none but the simplest of men."

"What about the writing?" Ned asked, hoping to get a more solid answer but Maester Luwin sighed.

"I have not seen its like before."

Ned's hopes vanished. If Maester Luwin did not recognise it even slightly, then where had these children come from?

"What do you think I should do?" Ned asked.

The Maester thought for a few seconds before answering. That was something that Ned always appreciated from him. Some people he questioned would answer instantly, so as not to keep him waiting but their answers would be flawed, ill-judged. Maester Luwin would not worry too much about letting the seconds drift by in order to give Ned the wisest counsel.

"Until we can ascertain what sort of threat they pose, if they are threats at all, we should look on them as prisoners. They have entered the grounds of Winterfell through some sort of false means after all. However, given the unusual circumstances of their arrival it would be best to keep knowledge of their existence as limited as possible." Ned nodded in agreement. "But where to keep them without raising suspicion?" Luwin continued. "All it would take is one person to notice and the whole castle would hear within an hour."

Ned ran a hand over his face and turned to the left. "Robb, Jon, come here," he called. There was a heart's beat of silence before his sons emerged from behind a bush, looking guilty. Ned stared them down as they approached and neither could find the courage to look him in the eye.

"Ser Rodrick is leading a patrol for wildlings in the Wolfswood." Robb meekly offered in explanation, looking at his father's feet. Had Ned's mind not been on mysterious appearing children, he would not have forgotten the Master-at-Arms' absence from Winterfell.

"You will look at me when you address me," Ned rebuked and both boys looked up at their father apprehensively. "You were both perfectly aware of Ser Rodrick's absence from the castle when I spoke to you in Maester Luwin's solar. Why did you not speak up?"

The boys exchanged guilty glances.

"We wanted to know of the matter that brought you to Maester Luwin; why you were wet." Jon blurted. "As we reached the bottom of the turret we heard you both leave and mention someone appearing." At this, both boys glanced over to the two prone figures lying under the tree. Maester Luwin hurriedly replaced the cloak over the girl's legs. "We followed you to the godswood and overheard most of your conversation. We are sorry, father."

"Had you walked through the godswood boldly, I might have been less grieved by your actions," Ned told them sternly. "But to creep around in the shadows like a spider, dishonours you both." Their gazes dropped again but he would find time to scold his sons further when the boy and girl were safely concealed somewhere. "However, now that you are both here, I will have use of you."

Relieved that they were no longer under their father's icy gaze, the boys moved towards the strangers.

"Who are they?" Robb asked.

"Where are they from?" Jon looked at his father expectantly.

"How did they get here?"

"What are they doing here?"

"Why are their clothes so different?"

"Are they going to wake up?"

Maester Luwin gave Ned a slightly amused look at the boys' onslaught of questions. This was exactly why he had tried to keep them away. "I'm afraid I can answer none of your questions, boys." He responded. "I sincerely hope that they wake because I am as eager as you to find the truth."

Before Ned could stop him, Robb reached down and took the peculiar item off of the boy's eyes. "What are these?" Robb said to himself.

"Robb, no, put them back," Jon advised.

Ignoring his half-brother, Robb inspected them briefly before placing them over his own eyes. With a yell, he wrenched them off and Ned moved forward, concerned.

"What happened?" Jon asked, taking them from Robb and also peering curiously at them.

"They made my eyes go strange. My vision was altered. Try it," he urged but Ned had had enough of their curiosity.

"This is not a game, boys." He said sternly, taking the strange object from Jon and placing it back over the mysterious boy's eyes. "Until we know more about them, we must consider them to be a serious threat to everyone in Winterfell."

"But they're only about our age." Jon pointed out. "How dangerous could they be?"

"Appearances can be deceiving, Jon," warned Maester Luwin. "Danger comes in all shapes and sizes and sometimes from where you least expect it."

"You have disappointed me by coming here in secret but now you can redeem yourselves by vowing to me that you will speak to no one of what you have seen here." Ned said.

"Not Theon?" Robb asked.

"No."

"Not even, Lady Stark?" Jon enquired nervously.

"_No one_." Ned reiterated. The boys finally seemed to sense the seriousness of the situation because all the mirth drained from their faces.

Jon dropped to one knee, Robb a split second behind him. "I do so vow, father." They said in unison and Ned brought them both to their feet.

"There are rooms in the first keep that will be suitable for the boy and girl to be kept in while we wait for them to wake. We will place each of them in a sack to conceal their entry into the keep but to ensure there are as few witnesses as possible; you two will provide a distraction."

"What sort of distraction, father?" Robb asked.

"Whatever will be the most effective without arousing suspicion." His sons looked at each other thoughtfully. "Now, go to one of the store rooms and bring back two large sacks."

"No, let me go, my lord." Maester Luwin requested. "It would draw less attention."

Ned nodded his agreement, Maester Luwin leaving immediately.

The boys' attention turned back at once to the boy and girl on the ground. Ned couldn't really blame them.

"They don't look related." Robb commented.

"Neither do we," Jon pointed out, prompting Robb to shrug his shoulders. "Have you searched them?"

"No," Ned replied. "And neither will either of you." He added as both boys bent to start rummaging through the two cloaks. "Maester Luwin will search them when they have been relocated."

"Can we be present when you question them?" Robb asked hopefully.

Ned frowned. He would rather just have Maester Luwin with him. He had already involved Jon and Robb more than he had planned to. However, seeing children their own age may calm the strangers if they were innocent of any wrongdoing. "I will make that decision when the time comes."

Robb and Jon exchanged pleased looks and Ned felt that he'd already lost that battle.

The Maester soon returned with two large sacks so Ned sent his sons off to carry out their diversion. The boys jogged from the godswood, whispering back and forth, giving Ned a feeling he was going to regret giving them leave to cause a bit of chaos.

Carefully they placed the boy and then the girl into a sack each; Maester Luwin assuring him that being in the sack would cause them no harm. The sacks were light enough for Ned to carry one in each hand to the entrance of the godswood and through the iron gate.

Ned walked confidently, even moving the sack with the girl over his shoulder. Maester Luwin hurried beside him but the people they met paid Ned no more mind than what was due to their lord. The route he took was longer than if he wanted to go there directly, but it meant they encountered less people – especially if Jon and Robb's diversion was working.

The first keep soon loomed above them and Maester Luwin unlocked the door. They located a room on the first floor that held only empty storing barrels. Ned took both children out of the sacks and left the boy in the barrel room, Maester Luwin locking the door as they left so the boy couldn't escape. On the next floor they placed the girl in a room with various broken items of furniture that no one had ever gotten around to fixing. This door was locked on departure as well.

"I will find Jory and ask him to post a guard on each door just to be safe, but I would like you to remain as well. When one of them wakes, inform me immediately." Ned instructed and Maester Luwin bowed in obedience.

Once outside the first keep it did not take long to find his Captain of the Guards. In fact, Jory Cassel found him instead; Jon, Robb and (for a reason that Ned couldn't fathom) his younger daughter Arya in tow. Jon and Robb were both bleeding from cuts to their cheeks but looked calm, while Arya's eyes were wet and she looked both angry and slightly scared.

It transpired that a practice bout between Robb and Jon had turned sour. Blows were dealt in anger and curses rang through the yard as the half-brothers battled with their wooden swords. Arya, upon seeing her two beloved brothers trying to break each other's bones, had launched herself between them with flailing arms and hysterical shrieks, causing the bout to promptly end. When Ned realised that it had been Arya's nails that had drawn the blood on her brothers' cheeks, he almost laughed. Instead, he forced each of his sons to apologise to the other and then to their sister before banishing them to their rooms.

Crouching next to his daughter, he cupped the side of her head in one of his heads. "You were very brave to stop your brothers like that," he told her. "But promise me you won't do that again, Arya – you were very lucky that you weren't hurt."

She breathed deeply twice and Ned could tell that she wasn't happy about the promise he'd asked of her. "I promise," she muttered.

He kissed her on the forehead. "Good girl. Now off you go, I'm sure Septa Mordane or your mother have need of you."

Arya left, barely refraining from stamping her feet.

"Jory, Maester Luwin has need of two of your guards in the first keep." He instructed.

"Of course, my lord," the Captain replied and left to fulfil his command.

The remainder of the day past slowly for Ned as his thoughts turned frequently to the first keep. He visited his two eldest sons and thanked them for their part in the moving of the strangers although he expressly forbade either of them from entering the first keep without him. Then he had to endure Catelyn's disapproval of the boy's bout, which according to her was of course Jon's fault.

He visited the first keep late in the afternoon to see if there was any progress but Maester Luwin had to disappoint him.

They dined on a rich, beef stew that evening and it was a markedly tense affair. Ned, Jon and Robb were all anxiously awaiting news from the first keep while the rest of the high table believed there to be strain between Ned's elder sons after their fight earlier. Arya went from scowling at her brothers, to clinging desperately to their sleeves and back again.

Ned was relieved when the meal was over. He announced his intention to walk the walls. Jon and Robb looked as though they wanted to accompany him but they were to stay confined to their rooms as part of their fake punishment for fighting.

It was on the wall by the south gate that Maester Luwin found him.

"The girl is stirring, my lord," he said, only slightly breathless at the climb.

Ned nodded. "Fetch Robb and Jon. It is time we got some answers."

* * *

A/N Just a word about the Hogwarts uniform; I've gone for a blend of book/film for that because JK Rowling never makes it clear in her books what the students wear under their robes (I checked!) so I've gone with a uniform but I've actually made them wear it on the night they rescue Sirius, which is different from the film where they wear their own clothes. See, a blend.

I suppose you could say that the universe I based this Westeros on is a blend of book and TV show too, but more of that in the future.

The reviews I've had were great because so many of them made me think of aspects of the ASoIaF/GoT world that I hadn't thought of. So please, keep them coming because I can't think of everything otherwise my brain would melt!

Lots of love,

Lil Drop of Magic


	3. Chapter Two

A/N Thank you all again for your generosity with this fic. You make writing it much easier.

* * *

Chapter 2

Every muscle in Hermione's body was aching. Each slight movement she made caused pain to flare across her body.

Eyes still firmly closed, she attempted to recall what had happened to make her feel this way. She could remember Hagrid crying and then Ron throwing himself out from under the invisibility cloak after Scabbers. She winced as she recalled the lethal branches of the Whomping Willow. Then everything seemed to speed up: the Shrieking Shack, Sirius Black, Professor Lupin, _Expelliarmus_, Peter Pettigrew, a werewolf and dementors, hundreds of dementors. But there was more – the hospital wing, the time-turner, Buckbeak, Harry, falling…

They'd fallen from Buckbeak, hundreds of feet off the ground.

Perhaps she was dead.

The thought terrified her so much that she opened her eyes.

It was quite dark in the room, but light enough to slightly ease her fears that she was in some sort of afterlife. Above her head there seemed to be a stone ceiling and she relaxed even more at her belief that she was safely at Hogwarts, though why she wasn't in the hospital wing, she couldn't understand.

Hermione forced herself to sit up and take stock of where she was; chests, tables, chairs and other pieces of broken furniture surrounded her from her seat on the hard stone floor. What a strange place to put her in.

She was completely alone, too. Harry wasn't here. A prickly feeling covered her whole body and she pushed her cloak away from her as she grew uncomfortably hot. If _she_ had survived that fall, then surely Harry had too. She had to believe that. Harry was in another room like hers, that was all.

She made to get to her feet so she could see if she was able to get out, when a sudden realisation made her gasp; they had failed to save Sirius Black!

Hermione didn't know how much time they had lost since falling from Buckbeak but it seemed almost impossible that they would be able to rescue Sirius from a dementor's kiss now. It had probably already happened. Somewhere in the castle there was an innocent man condemned to a masquerade of life without a soul. Her stomach roiled and she got on her knees, retching, though luckily she was not sick.

And then there was the comprehension of how much trouble she, Harry and Professor Dumbledore would be in. They had attempted to undermine the Minister of Magic's sentencing of a convicted criminal by using time travel! Hermione had promised Professor McGonagall that she wouldn't misuse the time-turner and now she was facing certain expulsion, if not a trip to Azkaban herself!

Dumbledore would more than likely be removed from his post of Headmaster at Hogwarts too unless she and Harry could keep him out of it. Yes. She'd say it was all her own idea. She could save Harry too if she told the Minister that she'd taken Harry against his will, which was actually true. None of this was Harry's fault. It was _her_ time-turner after all.

Suddenly she realised why she was being kept here and not in the hospital wing; this was some sort of holding room before the authorities dealt with her.

She retched again, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. She could just picture her parent's faces when they found out what she'd done.

Hermione could feel the chain of the time-turner tracing a cold line against her skin. Unable to bear its touch, she drew it over her head and was about to fling it away when she saw that the time-turner was gone. Only a tiny piece of gold and jagged glass remained where the hourglass had once been…

She needed to find Harry, _now_.

Hermione raced towards the old wooden door and attempted to open it. Locked. She searched quickly and thoroughly through her robe but she could not find her wand.

Fighting down hysteria now, Hermione returned to the wooden door and started pounding her fists on it. "Harry?" she screamed. She needed to find out what had happened. She'd never heard of a time-turner being broken before. She dreaded to think what the consequences might be. "Harry, can you hear me? _Harry?_"

Her final scream was cut off as she heard the unmistakeable sound of a key being put in the lock. She scrambled away, feeling utterly defenceless to face whoever was on the other side of that door without her wand.

The first to enter the room was a man who looked about forty. His long face was matched with his hair, though his beard was trimmed short. He was swiftly followed by two boys who looked similar in age to her and Harry. One had the dark hair and long face of the man, leading Hermione to believe them to be father and son, while the other boy's hair was a mix of red and brown. The last to enter was a small, older man, clothed in a great, grey cloak with huge sleeves that nearly reached the floor.

They were all gazing at her with wide, curious eyes and Hermione was dismayed to discover that none of them was even slightly familiar. Their style of clothing seemed distinctly old-fashioned, with hose on their legs, tops that looked more like tunics and cloaks that appeared to be made of real animal fur.

"Where's Harry?" She blurted; her fear for her best friend out-weighing her anxiety of these strangers. "Who are you and why are you keeping me here?" The boys exchanged stunned expressions but the older men both looked disappointed. "Why won't you answer me? Harry?" She yelled again, moving forward to try and get past, but they moved to block her. "_Harry?" _Her throat burned in protest but she didn't care.

The grey man was easily the weakest link so she ran at him, dodging to the side to avoid his grasp. She was almost at the door but a pair of hands grabbed her waist and pulled her back. "No, I want to see Harry!" she yelled as she lashed out with elbows, feet, arms and nails. There were shouts and yells around her but above her own screams she couldn't make out what they said. Her shoe connected with something hard behind her and the grip around her waist loosened enough for her to break free.

She stumbled forwards and ran straight into the chest of the long faced man. The collision made her fall to the floor and a pair of hands pinned her arms tightly behind her back. She cried out at the pain lacing up her arms but she refused to let any tears show.

"_We should take her to see the boy."_ It was the grey man who spoke but Hermione couldn't understand a single word that he said.

"_Are you sure seeing him unconscious won't set her off again?_" The man in front of her replied but his words also didn't make any sense. Dread filled her stomach. Was it possible that these people didn't speak English?

"_I cannot be sure, my lord, but I believe it would help her to see he has come to no harm." _Hermione listened but was unable to comprehend. She knew a very limited amount of French and even a tiny bit of Spanish but she was pretty sure they weren't speaking in those languages either. Given the broken time-turner, the strangers' clothes and her belief that she was still in Hogwarts, the most logical explanation was that she had been transported hundreds of years in to the past and these people were in fact speaking some form of Old English that she couldn't understand. If this was true then, quite simply, her entire world had been turned on its head.

Momentarily stunned, she found herself being pulled gently to her feet and escorted from the room. A man decked in leather armour stood with a spear just outside the door and he gaped openly at her. Or, rather, at her legs. Hermione glanced down at herself, to see what he was staring at but they looked perfectly normal to her. _By his expression you'd expect he'd never seen a pair of legs before,_ Hermione thought. But if she truly was back in the middle ages or even beyond, then he probably didn't see bare legs on show very often.

She was marched down some unfamiliar stone steps to another room with a guard. This man was able to hide his surprise better but Hermione hardly noticed, hopeful as she was that Harry lay on the other side of the door.

When the grey man opened the door, at first all she could see were barrels, but there on the floor was her best friend. "Harry!" she cried, less vociferously than before, as relief rolled over her in waves. She pulled forwards and whichever of the boys was holding her, let her go.

Hermione knelt down next to her best friend and barely restrained herself from throwing her arms around his prone figure. She settled instead for grabbing and squeezing one of his hands between her own. She wasn't alone; whatever she would have to face here, she wouldn't be going through it on her own. Tears welled up in her eyes as the gravity of the situation began to dawn on her.

She sensed someone kneel next to her and she brushed the moisture from her eyes. She didn't want to show weakness in front of these strangers.

It was the boy with the red and brown hair. His blue eyes were clear and kind but she tensed all the same. He placed a hand on his chest and said, "_Robb_," very slowly and clearly.

_Is that his name?_ She wondered. "Robb," she repeated and the boy nodded with a broad smile. The dark boy came forward and copied the action of putting his hand against his chest.

"_Jon._"

"Jon." She repeated, feeling very much like a parrot. She pointed at the first boy and said, "Robb." Then at the other she said, "Jon." They nodded again and indicated for her to speak her own name.

She held a hand to her own chest this time and said, "Hermione."

The boys' tongues stumbled over the foreign name and she almost smiled. It took a few more repetitions from them before they could say her name correctly.

"Hermione," Harry murmured next to her, causing her to jump. The boy's eyes were still closed but he seemed to be coming round.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, taking his hand and squeezing it again. "Harry, wake up."

Harry groaned and used his free arm to rub at his eyes underneath his glasses. "The beds in the hospital wing are a lot more uncomfortable than I remember." He muttered sleepily.

"Um, Harry we're not in the hospital wing," Hermione explained gently. She took a deep steadying breath. How was she supposed to explain this situation to Harry? She glanced around at the strangers. At least none of them would understand what they were saying.

Harry finally took his hand away from his eyes, seeing his surroundings and the people in the room for the first time. "Er, Hermione…?" Harry asked weakly.

"Harry, I don't want you to overreact but it appears that my time-turner has been broken and the consequences have sent us here, whenever here might be." She said breathlessly. Harry's brow creased at her words, as though his brain was trying to process what it had heard.

His face paled and he looked at his left palm in dismay. "Your time thing?"

"Yes, the hourglass."

"It was me." Harry said miserably. "I broke it. When we fell it was right before my eyes and I just grabbed it by instinct." He showed her the palm of his hand – it had half a dozen small cuts and she could just make out a couple of glass fragments embedded in the wounds. "Hermione, I'm sorry. It's all my fault!"

His green eyes were full of sorrow and Hermione sincerely wished she'd never asked to take up so many lessons this year. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry, you _saved_ us! If you hadn't broken the time-turner then we would've certainly died!" Hermione argued, the mournful expression in Harry's eyes lessening somewhat.

"But…where are we? Who are those people?" He nodded in the direction of Robb, Jon and whoever the others were. They were watching the encounter with curious eyes.

"I don't really know," Hermione admitted. "But they don't speak our English or any language I might recognise. I think that when the time-turner broke it sent us so far back in the past that English has changed in to something we don't understand anymore."

Harry stared at the strangers warily. "You think we're still in Hogwarts but just in a different time?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? A working time-turner can only move you to a certain extent in terms of both time and physical location. I know my one was broken but…" The sceptical expression on Harry's face made her doubt herself. "You mean you_ don't_ think this is Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't feel right."

Hermione looked round at the walls again. They were made of stone, like Hogwarts' walls, but that didn't mean she was still in her beloved school. Nor had she ever thought Hogwarts had employed guards with weapons. She had read Hogwarts: A History, numerous times and it had never been mentioned. Plus, she hadn't glimpsed a single wand...

"Well, we won't know for sure until we get out of here." She glanced over her shoulder again at the staring strangers and it was a queer feeling to be able to talk openly about the situation with Harry, while knowing that the others couldn't understand a word she said. "Can you discretely check to see if you have your wand?" she asked. "I don't have mine but there's a good chance it came out of my robe when we fell." Harry took his hand from hers and placed both of his over his robe pockets. The look in his eyes told her all that she needed to know.

"It's not there," he confirmed.

Hermione sighed. "If we had use of magic then we could escape from these people, find out where we are and…"

"And what, Hermione? The time turner is broken, we don't know when or where we are and even if we did, we don't know the first thing about time travel to the future!" Harry pointed out

"We just have to be patient," she declared, crossing her arms. "There's no point in giving up before we've started. If there's a way for us to get home then I'll find it. If magic brought us here, then there must be a way for magic to take us back!" He looked far from convinced but she could understand how he felt; in all of her reading and research, she had never found an account of any one ever succeeding in travelling forwards in time before. She sighed. "You're right though, there's no point in escaping now until we have more information."

Harry rubbed his hand over his eyes again. "I can't believe this is real," he muttered. "It's _insane_. Are you sure this isn't just some crazy dream I'm having." He attempted to smile at her but Hermione couldn't return the gesture. His lips dropped but then his eyes abruptly widened. "Sirius!" He cried in despair. "What's happened to Sirius? We were supposed to save him!"

Hermione reconsidered her earlier thoughts about Sirius Black's fate. Their extreme time travel meant that there was a possibility of hope for Harry's godfather. "We might still be able to save him." She said, squeezing his hand and he looked like he desperately wanted to believe her. "When you leave one time stream and go to another, that first time stream is essentially paused until you return to it. As far as we're concerned, time stopped at Hogwarts the instant we disappeared from the Hospital Wing. Absolutely anything possible _could_ happen after that moment but until we get back to a point in time after we left, we won't know." Harry screwed up his face in concentration.

"But what if we never get back there?" He said at last.

"We'll never know if that will happen or not." Hermione replied.

"So basically we've just got to forget about everything that was part of our lives before I broke your time thing because it doesn't matter anymore?" Harry did not look pleased with that prospect.

"You're twisting my words." Hermione muttered, shaking her head. "Of course we won't forget anything about home, do you really think we could? But we know that our lives there are still waiting for us when we return."

"_If_ we return." He muttered bitterly.

She'd tried to be strong for Harry, to show him that this wasn't a hopeless situation but the acknowledgement that she might never get to see her family again was suddenly too much to bear. With a sob, she threw her arms around him, her tears beginning to dampen his shoulder. Harry had ever been a reluctant hugger, but for once he seemed to need the comfort of an embrace too because his arms wrapped tight around her chest.

The sound of someone talking made them draw apart. Hermione didn't know who had spoken and of course, what was said. The four continued to stare. Hermione expected that it was very boring to watch two people have a conversation in a foreign language. She just hoped that once these people saw that she and Harry were no threat, they would let them stay long enough to figure out some answers.

"They look very suspicious of us," Harry said, his eyes moving from one figure to the other.

"Well, of course they are," she replied. "It's bad enough if they just found us unconscious and have now discovered we don't speak their language, but if they actually saw us arrive?" She left the rest unsaid. They'd already broken the most important rule of time-travel by being seen, but that had been out of their hands. "If you're right and this isn't Hogwarts, then these people are probably muggles."

"Don't worry, I remember that summer homework on medieval witch burning. Even if I do get my wand back, I don't plan on revealing magic to them and being burned at the stake." Harry said with a slight smile but Hermione frowned.

"Don't joke about that." She warned. "I might know the incantation for a flame-freezing charm but I've never performed one. Not to mention that we've never apparated either."

Harry held his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."

"I've already made things bad enough by attacking them," she mumbled.

"You…what?" Harry asked, amazed.

"I didn't know that they couldn't understand what I was saying so when they wouldn't let me see you I got scared and angry." She suddenly became very interested in playing with her tie. "I made an escape attempt out of the door but one of the boys grabbed me and I went a bit mad. I think I gave Jon or Robb a horrible kick on the shin."

Harry laughed. "That still doesn't sound as good as when you slapped Malfoy."

Hermione's cheeks flamed red. "He deserved it," she replied defensively. She felt much more comfortable talking about this, than the elephant in the room. "He shouldn't have done that cruel impression of Hagrid."

"Oh, I don't disagree." Harry said with a grin. But the moment passed and they returned to reality. "So, which one's which?"

The boys seemed to sense that they were being spoken of because they stood a little taller and eyed Harry even more curiously.

"Jon is the one with the dark hair." Hermione explained. "I think he's the son of the man with the long hair. The other one's Robb." She pointed then at Harry and said his name. She was unsurprised that they found his name easier to pronounce than her own.

There followed an awkward moment of silence where both sides seemed to realise that was about all that could be communicated at this moment. Hermione was almost tempted to ask the grey man and the one with the long hair what their names were, but the cool grey gaze of the latter made her keep her mouth closed.

It was only the sound of Harry's stomach rumbling that seemed to break the moment.

"_They should have food._" The long haired one said.

Hermione assumed it was some sort of order because the grey one bowed his head slightly and replied, "_Would you prefer to keep them separate, my lord?_"

Long hair nodded. _"For now._" He made a gesture with his hand which prompted movement from Jon and Robb. Hermione shrank back against Harry as the boys came closer and reached out to her, obviously wary of how she had attacked them the last time they had tried to contain her.

"Go with them." Harry instructed calmly. "It'll be fine." Hermione was perfectly aware that neither of them knew that for sure. Apart from a couple of names, they really knew nothing about these people. "All we can do is what we are told. They'll soon see that we mean no harm." Harry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and it gave Hermione the courage to get to her feet without being forced.

As she was escorted from the door she gave Harry one last glance. He looked so strange sitting amongst all those barrels. "Bye, Harry." He waved and then the door was closed and locked by Grey.

On the way back to her room she was alert enough to pay more attention to her surroundings. The uncomfortable prickling feeling crept over her again at the unfamiliarity of everything. Of course, if this was Hogwarts, then things were bound to change in the castle over hundreds of years and she couldn't claim to know every staircase and room of it. But Harry has been right. It didn't _feel_ like Hogwarts. There were no moving portraits or tapestries, no trick steps or ghosts floating past. In short, there was no sense of magic.

The room of broken furniture looked just as it had when she had left it but Grey lit a lamp for her so she could see more of it.

"_I'll be back shortly with something for you to eat and drink._" Grey said.

"_She'll need some form of bedding and some new clothes._" This time it was Long hair. Hermione sighed as he left her room. She _hated_ not knowing what they were saying!

"_I think the clothes suit her just fine._" Robb whispered to Jon with a grin but an unknowing Hermione seated herself with frustration on a still sturdy looking table as her door was locked too.

She passed her time by inspecting the furniture in the room. There was nothing particularly exciting there and further doubts crept into her about the magical ability of her captors. There was nothing here that a simple _reparo_ wouldn't have fixed.

She managed to climb her way over to the narrow window at the far end of the room. To even call it a window was extremely generous as it was really an arrow slit. Judging by the fact that she could only see darkness and a single star through it, Hermione assumed that it was evening. She sat back on a chest in disgust. Why couldn't they have at least put her in a room with a semi-decent view?

Her door opened and Grey entered with a steaming wooden bowl of stew. She clambered her way over to him eagerly, only just realising how hungry she was. Taking the bowl from him gratefully, Hermione barely noticed one of the guards lay some sort of bedding on the ground as well as some clothing.

Without the intimidating gaze of the other man, Grey seemed to be almost kindly as he surveyed her. "You know my name is Hermione," she made sure to say the last word clearly. "But what is your name?" She held out a hand towards him and he seemed to grasp what she meant.

"_Luwin_."

"Luwin?" She repeated after swallowing a mouthful of the stew. It was nice. Beef if she wasn't mistaken.

He nodded. "_Maester Luwin_."

She frowned as she chewed. Was _Maester_ his first name or his surname? Or perhaps it was a professional title? She had so many questions.

"Maester Luwin."

He corrected her slightly and she tried again. He smiled and left shortly with her empty bowl. She looked down at her new clothes. There was a long pale green dress that looked as though it would cover every part of her body except her head and a number of more shoddy items that looked as though they were undergarments.

She put them aside and reached for her robe. She'd wear the clothes tomorrow. For one last night she'd be Hermione Granger, Gryffindor student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The bedding felt suspiciously like a straw filled sheet, but she was so grateful that they'd given her anything at all that she hardly cared. She dragged it away from the door, feeling slightly exposed there, to a snug part of the room that was surrounded by two cupboards. Lying on her mattress with the furniture looming over her, it almost felt as though she was enclosed within her four-poster at Hogwarts.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes and she screwed them shut to stop more forming. If she started crying now then she doubted she'd ever stop.

_The Standard book of Spells, Grade 1, by Miranda Goshawk,_ she recited in her head to distract herself. This was a familiar routine for Hermione as she often used this technique to get to sleep when her mind was on other problems. She moved mentally through the start of the book, reciting the introduction and listing the chapters, already beginning to feel her thoughts slowing down.

After a few minutes of mental recitation she came to _The Unlocking Charm._ Hermione smiled at her naïve belief that she and Harry should have simply retrieved their wands, unlocked their doors and escaped to freedom before finding out about where and when they were.

_Alohomora_, she thought mockingly and waved her hand in the general direction of the door.

Encased as she was between the furniture and drifting off to sleep, Hermione didn't hear the click from the keyhole as the door unlocked.

* * *

A/N Hope you liked it!

Your thoughts are most welcome.

Love,

Lil Drop of Magic


	4. Chapter Three

A/N You guys! You've gone slightly crazy with the love you've shown this story. THANK YOU!

* * *

Chapter 3

The silence in the room was almost more than Robb could bear. His father was waiting for Maester Luwin to return from organising dinner for Hermione and Harry and he would not have any discussion of what had transpired that day until his trusted advisor reappeared.

Robb would have much preferred if they could talk about the new arrivals first and _then_ feed them, but he knew better than to have suggested that to Father. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell would always do the right thing, even if it meant that Robb had to live with his questions unanswered for a few more minutes.

They were waiting in another room in the first keep, though this one was devoid of any objects apart from the lamps that cast flickering shadows over them all. His father was standing by the wall adjacent to the door, his back straight and resolute. Quite what he made of this situation, Robb had no idea. His lord father had ever been difficult to read, which was one of the reasons why he was such a good lord. If men always knew what their lord was thinking, then they would be able to pre-empt him. But if they didn't know whether they had pleased you or not, they were more likely to be caught unawares. Robb often attempted to adopt the same passive façade but it was harder than it seemed.

His half-brother, Jon, was practicing blocking movements with an imaginary sword. The sound of his feet scuffing on the floor was starting to get on Robb's nerves, but he had a feeling his irritation was more down to his own impatience than Jon's movements.

His thoughts turned to the two strangers held in separate rooms only a few feet from him. _Harry and Hermione._ His brain still stumbled slightly over her name so he rehearsed it again and tried to recall the way it had sounded coming from her throat. Harry, on the other hand, was a fairly common name in the Seven Kingdoms. However, everything _else_ about this Harry and the girl he'd arrived with was still an utter mystery. Robb recalled his amazement at discovering that Hermione couldn't speak the Common Tongue. He should have been prepared for that when he remembered the mysterious writing on their clothes but it was bizarre that they could arrive in Winterfell, the heart of the North, without speaking a word of the Common Tongue!

And yet even their arrival had been odd, hadn't it? He and Jon had gotten to the godswood too late to hear how they had got past the guards, but their clothes were soaking wet, as were Father's. What had they been doing in the godswood pool? Robb crossed his arms and lent against the wall in frustration. They weren't going to be getting the answers to those sorts of questions anytime soon.

Jon stumbled slightly in his footwork and Robb couldn't help but grin slightly. "You've just lost your head to an invisible sword."

His half-brother's already grey eyes darkened as a frown appeared on his lips. "At least I didn't get injured by two different girls in the same day." Jon retorted.

It was Robb's turn to frown this time as his shin gave a throb from where Hermione had kicked him in her attempt to escape. He was unable to give a reply though, as Maester Luwin came through the door at that moment to draw everyone's attention.

"Did you find anything of importance on them?" His father asked as soon as the door was closed.

"I did," Maester Luwin confirmed. Robb held his breath anxiously as the Maester put a hand deep into one of his pockets to reveal…

"A couple of sticks!" he called out in dismay, eyeing the two slender pieces of wood Maester Luwin was holding, but the glance his father gave him made Robb hold his tongue against further comments.

"Robb, you are blessed with two perfectly good eyes, so please use the gift of sight more accurately." Maester Luwin chided. "Do these look like common sticks to you?" Robb felt his cheeks heat up as the Maester held them out for him to examine more closely. They _were_ more than simple sticks. They were both about ten inches long but were definitely from two different types of tree. One was of a darker wood and much thicker at the end, while the other was lighter and slender from end to end. They looked like they had been crafted and modified to be more substantial than simple pieces of wood.

"What are they for?" Jon asked, peering at the sticks over Robb's shoulder. "Did they have one each?"

Maester Luwin held up the darker stick. "This one was found on the boy and this one on the girl." He said as he held up the other. "What their uses are though, I cannot tell you." Robb frowned. Even when they seemed to be shedding a little more light on the mystery of Harry and Hermione, it quickly changed and they were suddenly thrust back into complete darkness. "Yet they surely hold some significance with the pair, else they would not have had them in their possession."

Father nodded. "We will keep hold of these items until more knowledge of the children can be obtained. Was there anything else?"

"The girl has a fine golden chain about her neck. " Maester Luwin replied. "The ornament that hung on it appears to have been broken off for there is nothing but a small piece of jagged glass."

"The boy, Harry, his hand was cut." Robb suddenly remembered. "Maybe he broke whatever was there."

"When I examined him I did find tiny fragments of glass in his wounds," Maester Luwin conceded and Robb felt a thrill of triumph.

"But why would he do that?" Jon asked. "It could have been an accident, but to break something in your fist seems to be more like an intentional act."

"It does appear to be a violent action," his father replied. "But we cannot be certain."

No, they were certain of nothing.

"That was all I found on them apart from their clothes." Maester Luwin finished, tucking the wands, and then his arms, into his sleeves.

His lord father nodded grimly. Robb waited, hoping to finally hear what he made of the situation. He knew Maester Luwin had advised him to be wary of Hermione and Harry; that they might be dangerous, but he sincerely doubted that they were. Despite the mystery around them, they seemed like a perfectly normal man and woman nearly grown. He just hoped they would be staying at Winterfell for a while so that he could possibly get some answers.

"I am aware that no word of what has happened today will pass from your lips." His father said to them all. Robb felt his back straighten. "But what I am about to say now goes beyond that, for if I am right, this changes what we thought was possible in our world." The intensity of his father's words caused the breath to pause in Robb's chest, eager to hear what his father could possibly say. "I believe the children have been brought to us by the gods."

Robb knew he most probably had a rather ridiculous stunned expression on his face, but he felt it was warranted. _The gods?!_

"My lord, there may yet be explanations we haven't considered for the children's appearance." Maester Luwin reasoned. "The gods, be they the old or new, are not known to interfere in the lives of men so directly."

"How exactly did they come to be in the godswood?" Jon asked. "Why weren't they spotted by any of the sentries?"

"Because we do not have sentries in the sky." Father replied shortly.

Robb had only just managed to get his facial expression under control, but his mouth gaped open at this revelation. "They came from the sky?!"

His father nodded. "Yes. They fell together into the godswood pool, seemingly unconscious. I am convinced that they didn't fall or jump from one of the trees; I would have heard them moving above me."

"But, but maybe something else brought them," Robb stammered, finding it hard to believe that the gods had truly caused this. "Like some sort of sorcery. You've got your Valyrian steel link, Maester Luwin. Is there nothing you studied at the Citadel that could explain this?"

Maester Luwin's arms seemed to disappear even further up his sleeves. "I'm afraid this goes beyond any sorcery that I know of. I could send a raven to Archmaester Marwyn to – "

"No." His father cut in. "I will involve no others in this matter. Maester Luwin, surely sorcery of this level would be known to all those who studied for their Valyrian steel link. If you haven't heard of a feasible way for two children to be delivered in mid-air in your studying, then I am satisfied that it is beyond known possibility."

Robb noted that Maester Luwin looked very uncomfortable with this assumption. But it seemed to him that learning how to move from one place to another _would_ be one of the first things you'd want to learn if you were studying sorcery.

Jon had been quiet since it was revealed how Harry and Hermione came to the godswood and he had a very contemplative look on his face. "You were meant to save them, Father." He announced, revealing his train of thought. "If you had not been in the godswood at the time, they would surely have drowned and we would have been none the wiser of their existence."

Robb hadn't realised that. The dark waters of the godswood pool meant that what lay in its depths was kept utterly hidden. He shivered as he recalled the stories Old Nan had told him as a child, of what lurked down there. The godswood was sacred to all those who worshipped the old gods at Winterfell but it was unusual for people to frequent it as much as his father did. It was very lucky that Hermione and Harry appeared when they did otherwise, as Jon said, they would have had no idea about them.

"I have come to the same conclusion myself, Jon." His father nodded. "Before this point I was content that the whisper of the wind through the trees was as much of a message as I was ever going to receive from the gods."

"But why have they sent these children to you?" Jon wondered. "What purpose did the gods have?"

Robb still wasn't convinced that the old gods _had_ sent Harry and Hermione. It just seemed so incredible that the gods would act in this way when no record existed of them having done so before. Father seemed sure and so did Jon, but Robb had a feeling that Maester Luwin was also quite sceptical.

"We may never know why the children were brought here." His father admitted. "But I intend to see that they come to no harm. Although I cannot be certain that the children are harmless or even innocent of whatever brought them here, I observed them closely and found nothing to cause me great concern about their motives. From now onwards, unless we do find a reason to consider them a threat to the people here, they are under my complete protection." Robb's hopes rose. Did this mean they would be staying at Winterfell? "As I have already made clear, it is of the utmost importance that the truth about their arrival is withheld from everyone outside of this room. I'm sure you're all aware of the fear and suspicion that would be generated if people knew these children came from the gods."

"But what reason will you give for their lack of common tongue?" Jon asked. "We can't keep them hidden in here until they've learnt our language – their existence would surely be discovered before then."

His father frowned. "No, they will have to be introduced to the rest of Winterfell soon to stave off any rumours; tomorrow if it can be arranged. The fabrication of their reason for being here will have to be considered very carefully, as there must be no one questioning its validity."

With all the revelations and theories, Robb found that his head was starting to ache. There was just so much to take in, let alone comprehend! He suddenly found himself fighting a yawn but he was too slow to hide it from his father's eyes, who frowned. "Perhaps it would be better for you two to retire to bed."

"No, father, please." Robb begged as Jon shot him a furious glare. "Let us stay and be a help to you."

"We may think of something that you and Maester Luwin would not." Jon argued and Robb nodded enthusiastically.

"You have both already been a great help to me," Father conceded, "but your reactions will be more convincing if you do not already know too much about the identities I will give them. Besides, you're involved far too heavily in this matter for my liking."

An angry outburst was on the tip of Robb's tongue but he knew better than to let it out; that certainly wouldn't improve the situation. Once his father had made a decision it was near impossible to change his mind.

"You will go to your rooms and carry on as normal." His father instructed.

With a muttered, "Yes, father," they did as they were told and promptly found themselves descending the steps of the first keep.

"Nice one, Stark," Jon berated, giving him a slight push that nonetheless made Robb stumble down a couple of steps. "Now we'll just have to sit around and wait."

"Well, _Snow_, if _I_ hadn't suggested that we follow father and Maester Luwin to the godswood then we wouldn't know about any of this." Robb shot back, elbowing his half-brother in the ribs.

They came upon the guard standing in front of Hermione's door and abruptly stopped talking. Robb was half tempted to see if he could see her or Harry through the keyholes but realised it was pointless given the darkness of the rooms.

He continued his journey with Jon in silence until they exited the first keep and stepped into the chilly evening.

"We must do as father says and act normally." Jon whispered, his breath misting in front of him in the moonlight.

Robb nodded. "We can't talk about tonight, not even to each other. We won't know if someone's listening." As necessary as it was, it was still incredibly frustrating. Two people had fallen out of Winterfell's sky, possibly sent by the old gods themselves, and he had to forever pretend like it had never happened!

Robb was relieved that the walk to the Great Keep did not take them long as there were so many different aspects of what had transpired that day that he wanted to talk about, even if he couldn't. At least if he was out of Jon's company he wouldn't give in to temptation and start talking about what he wasn't allowed to.

They parted awkwardly, so many words lying unsaid and Robb readied himself for bed with more than an air of frustration. His only hope was that he would quickly surrender to sleep so that morning would appear to come all the quicker. This would have been an excellent plan, if his brain wasn't racing with thoughts, theories and images of crimson and scarlet lions, a pair of uncovered slender legs and a couple of sticks.

* * *

"You look terrible," Theon said with a grin that showed no sympathy as Robb sat to break his fast the next morning. He didn't doubt that he looked slightly worse for wear. It had felt like he had been tossing and turning underneath his furs all night, but he must have fallen asleep eventually because he had woken suddenly to find light streaming through his window. Despite the pounding in his head, he'd dressed quickly and hurried down to break his fast. He'd been tempted to just grab something from the kitchen before seeking out Father, but he remembered he'd been instructed to act normally, so he had journeyed to the Great Hall instead.

"Good morning, to you too," he muttered, with a light scowl, before starting to help himself to some eggs and sausages. Most of Robb's family was here already, excluding his father and youngest brother, Rickon. His sister, Sansa, was looking every inch a lady as she demurely ate slices of apple, while his other younger siblings, Arya and Bran had engaged in a silent mock-battle with their spoons. Robb doubted it would take his mother long to notice and swiftly put an end to it. Jon, however, was staring contemplatively across the hall, his food left half-uneaten. Robb was pleased to see that he wasn't the only one struggling to get his head around recent events.

"Your warrior wounds seem to be healing nicely," Theon said, nodding to Robb's cheek. "It's a shame they won't leave a scar; you'd look much more fearsome, even if they were caused by a little girl."

"I didn't see you trying to break us apart," Robb countered and Theon raised his eyebrows.

"Why would I have done that? That's the first decent bout you've had in many a moon's turn. You might even be a decent enough opponent for me now."

"I could take you on any time," Robb retorted. "I'm nearly a man-grown now. The advantage of those extra years you have will soon be of no consequence."

Theon's grin widened. "We'll see, Stark."

The large doors at the end of the Great Hall opened and his father and Ser Rodrick Cassel entered, followed by the men that Ser Rodrick had taken to patrol the Wolfswood. His father called for more food to be brought out and suddenly the hall was full of hungry men calling jovially to each other across the tables.

His mother rose to receive Ser Rodrick, who gratefully accepted a goblet of wine, but Robb was distracted by another arrival in the Great Hall; Maester Luwin.

He held his breath. The Maester's appearance couldn't be to do with Harry and Hermione could it?

Maester Luwin bowed deeply to his lord and lady and Robb strained to hear what was being said over the din in the hall. "My lord, a pair of children arrived just after dawn and I believe they seek some sort of audience with you." Robb tensed and glanced at Jon, who was also watching the exchange closely. This was it.

"You believe?" Robb's mother repeated with a puzzled expression. "Why are you not sure?"

"They do not speak the Common Tongue, my lady." Maester Luwin explained.

"No Common Tongue? That's absurd!" Ser Rodrick exclaimed, attracting attention all over the hall. "How could they travel across the North without speaking our tongue?"

"I can only guess, Ser Rodrick. That is why it has taken me this long to bring the matter to your attention, my lord. Despite my knowledge of several languages, communicating with them has been extremely difficult. They only responded very slightly to my use of Lorathi – a language I'm afraid I have limited knowledge of."

His father frowned. "They're from Lorath?" The hall had grown quiet but a low murmuring spread along both the head table and the lower ones.

Robb had to admit that Lorath seemed like a wise choice. Off all of the free cities, Lorath was the smallest and the one of least consequence in Westeros. He was pretty sure that he hadn't ever met a Lorathi or even heard of one being mentioned in the North, though there were plenty of tales of Tyroshi sailors or traders from Pentos or Myr.

"I believe so," Maester Luwin replied.

"What are two children from Lorath doing here?" Theon muttered as Robb's mother asked the same question.

"None of the words of their own tongue have given me any indication, my lady, but the only reason I can think of for two children to travel so far from their own home without any knowledge of the Common Tongue, would be through fear."

A look of concern passed across his mother's face. "Have they been mistreated?"

Maester Luwin shook his head. "They appear to be in good health, my lady, though their clothes were not fit for further use. I hope you do not object that I provided them with new ones."

"Of course not," his father said. "Bring them here, Maester Luwin. I would see these children for myself."

Maester Luwin bowed and swept from the hall as the babble of chatter returned. Lord and Lady Stark took their seats at the head table, joined by Ser Rodrick.

Robb chewed his lip nervously. Was it such a good idea to bring Harry and Hermione to a packed Great Hall? What if the sight of so many warriors scared them? What would they do?

"Whatever _their_ reasons might be," Theon started, breaking off a chunk of bread. "I know that if _I_ was from Lorath I'd want to get away from there."

"Yes. It's odd though, that they're only children." Robb replied, playing his part. "There was no mention of anyone else. That's a very long and dangerous journey for children to make on their own."

"Can we keep them, father?" Arya asked. "I want more children to play with."

"People aren't possessions, Arya," Father chided.

"How are you going to play with people you can't talk to?" Sansa asked with an air of disdain. "They probably don't even play the same games in Lorath."

"Well, they can teach us new games then," said Bran. "I'm bored of playing Come-Into-My-Castle."

There was a hush as Maester Luwin re-entered the hall and people stood up to get a look at the children.

"They're not children," Theon said quietly to Robb when they came into view. Harry and Hermione were unsurprisingly looking very nervous, though they seemed less mysterious dressed in clothes more fitting to Westeros. "They're nearly a man and woman grown. She looks old enough for marrying – she's old enough for bedding at least." Robb frowned, though Theon spoke the truth, for Hermione was seemingly close to a marrying (and bedding) age. An image of her legs came unbidden into his mind and he felt himself flush. Theon noted his red cheeks and laughed. "Don't be such a maid, Stark."

Robb could feel himself get even hotter. "Shut up, Greyjoy."

"I present Harry and Hermione, my lord." Maester Luwin said, drawing Robb and Theon's conversation to a close. The newcomers seemed to sense the formal setting (or Maester Luwin had somehow instructed them) for they bowed and curtsied in turn. Robb was avoiding Hermione's eye so that there would be no sign of recognition on her face, at least that is what he told himself as his cheeks finally started to cool down.

"You are most welcome here." His father said, but the blank looks on Harry and Hermione's faces seemed to satisfy everyone else that they didn't understand a word he had said.

"They will not be children much longer," his mother observed. "Are they siblings?"

"I do not know, my lady." Maester Luwin sighed. "I only know the names they have given me."

"It is a most puzzling situation," Ser Rodrik said, shaking his head slightly. Robb wondered how Ser Rodrik would react if he knew how Harry and Hermione had really come to Winterfell.

His mother nodded. "Maester Luwin, is it possible you could teach them the Common Tongue? Once we find out their reasons for leaving Lorath, we might be able to assist them further."

"It will take time, my lady, as I'm working with an unfamiliar language, but I see no reason why they should not become speakers of our tongue." The Maester replied.

Robb was amazed at how well this acceptance of Harry and Hermione was going. Nobody was questioning the likelihood of them coming from Lorath, but as Maester Luwin was the most learned man in Winterfell, it was unlikely that anyone would disbelieve him if he gave good reasoning.

"There is room in my turret for the boy to reside, my lord," Maester Luwin continued. "But it might be prudent to find a bed for the girl elsewhere."

"She can share my bed if she wants," Theon whispered, the familiar grin on his face. Robb shoved him away and turned back to the main conversation.

"I'm sure somewhere suitable will be found." His father said, before turning along the table to look at his eldest daughter. "Sansa, I trust that you will make the girl welcome and help her find her way around."

Robb noticed that Sansa didn't look entirely pleased by this instruction but she dutifully replied, "Yes, father."

"I'll help too, father," Arya piped up. She ducked down under her table and emerged in front of Hermione, who looked a little surprised. "Hello, I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell but I can't remember what your name is because it was a bit odd."

Sansa clicked her tongue and shook her head slightly. "She can't understand you, Arya."

Arya shrugged her shoulders. "Come on, I'll show you around," she grabbed Hermione's arm and started to pull her towards the doors.

"Arya! Father asked _me_ to show her Winterfell." Sansa called. She got to her feet and strode after the pair, her head held high.

"_Are you all right?" _Harry called to Hermione, who had given in to Arya's insistent tugging.

"_I think so. I don't think they're going to hurt me._" She replied, though of course, no one actually knew what either of them said.

"I'll go with them, Lord Stark." Jon suggested, adopting the formal tone as he always did when in front of Lady Catelyn. "And take the boy too."

"Wait for me," Bran called, ducking under the table in the same fashion as Arya.

Robb pushed himself to his feet too. He wasn't about to be left behind. His mother and father looked shocked at how their children had all abandoned their food. He glanced at Theon. "Are you coming?"

Theon made an exaggerated show of pushing his plate away. "I suppose I had better supervise so that this girl doesn't cause you an injury as well."

Robb scowled, glad that Theon didn't know about the purple bruise on his leg.

* * *

A/N So, this isn't my favourite of the chapters so far. I found it a little hard for some reason. Sorry if that comes across in the reading.

Quite a few of you got excited by the prospect of wandless magic in the story and the word I have right now for all of you on that front is: patience. 

Until next time,

Lil Drop of Magic


	5. Chapter Four

A/N Holy moly! Tomorrow is my ten-year anniversary of being on this site! That doesn't make me feel old at all… How does someone celebrate double figures on here? Any ideas? Ah, well, you can all have a chapter anyway.

* * *

Chapter 4

Harry frowned down at the assortment of letters on the sheet of parchment in front of him. He had come to know the individual sounds quite well, but putting them together to actually make words was proving much more difficult. It didn't help that he didn't really understand what the words themselves meant.

He couldn't exactly remember how he'd learned to read English at school but he knew that already having a reasonably good grasp of speaking the language had made things a lot easier. He was also pretty sure that he'd been given child-friendly books with only a couple of words and a large picture to get him started, but there didn't seem to be any children's books in Winterfell.

_Winterfell_. That had been one of the first words they'd learned in this language and it still seemed a strange one to him even after two months of living here. But pretty much all the words seemed strange except some of the people's names.

He looked down at the parchment again, trying to spot any familiar words like '_the_' or '_was_'. Luckily, it was Hermione's turn to read aloud to Maester Luwin at that moment, which gave Harry a bit more time to sound out the words in his head.

While Harry knew that Hermione was finding acquiring this new language difficult, he was also aware that she was progressing an awful lot quicker than he was. He wasn't annoyed or surprised. In fact, he would have been amazed if he'd found things easier than her; she was extremely intelligent after all and he'd never known anybody work as hard as she did in her school work. Even here she had her nose in a book most of the time, but instead of reading quietly in her head, she'd recite to anyone who would listen. At first, people had been willing to spare a few minutes to listen and correct her but they soon got bored of this. Only the Stark family would listen to her now because they were too polite to tell her to go away. Harry smiled to himself as he remembered the bored expression on Sansa's face the last time he had come across her suffering through Hermione's reading.

Hermione had often instructed _him_ to practice his reading with other people, but he thought he'd get better at reading if he could actually comprehend the words first. He had a feeling that Hermione thought he wasn't really trying to learn this tongue because he spent a lot of his time just listening and observing. But the number of words he had learned at Winterfell had risen quite quickly. He set himself a target of learning ten new words a day. This didn't sound like much and sometimes he couldn't remember those words a couple of days later, but he was pleased with his own progress. The majority of the words he knew were nouns as they were the easiest to translate. He only had to point at something and fix a quizzical expression on his face before someone told him what it was.

Fortunately, the language they spoke here wasn't impossibly complicated; most words only had one or two syllables and their letters were more like the ones he was used to rather than those he'd seen in Chinese or Arabic. But it wasn't an early form of English they spoke at Winterfell, as Hermione had first suspected.

One of the very first things Maester Luwin had shown him in his teaching room was an elaborate, coloured map. On it there were three land masses and Maester Luwin pointed to a tiny spot on the westernmost island and said '_Winterfell'_. Harry had stared at the map with wide eyes because it most certainly wasn't a map of Britain. Hermione was gazing at it in despair too.

"Do you recognize it?" He asked, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Hermione just pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. He turned his eyes back to the detailed map, searching intently for anything that might give him some clue as to their location. His eyes roamed over mountains, seas, forests and lakes but it was to no avail. "Where on Earth are we then?" His eyes met hers and the fear he saw in them at his words, made his heart burn for a moment. _No_.

"Harry," she said timidly but he shook his head.

"No. We don't know what scale this map is. These places could be small islands," he argued.

"Harry, no small islands are going to have ice at the top of one and a desert on one not too far away." Hermione pointed out, gesturing to the corresponding places on the map. "If they are islands, then they are huge ones and I don't know _any_ like that on Earth."

Harry's mind whirled furiously, refusing to believe what Hermione was saying. "Will you listen to what you're suggesting? Look, the time-turner sending us back centuries in time I can believe, but it transporting us to another planet?! That's insane!"

It still felt absurd all these weeks later, but his mind had somewhat accepted that he was on some alternative version of Earth. They knew that they weren't on some other planet in the universe because the moon and stars corresponded with what they had studied in astronomy. Back on his own Earth he had never considered the possibility of there being alternative worlds, but that was the only explanation that he and Hermione could come up with. He looked at the faint scars on his hand where the time-turner had cut into his skin. He would do it again, he told himself, because otherwise he and Hermione would have died. Being at Winterfell was surely better than death and Hermione was utterly determined and convinced that they would find a way back.

"_Harry, are you ready?_" Maester Luwin asked. Harry put his hand back down and glanced at the parchment.

"Um, _yes._" He cleared his throat and focused. "_In the on…one han…handed,"_

"_Hundred,"_ Maester Luwin corrected.

"_Hundred and five, _no, _fifty seven year,"_

"_Fifty-seventh year."_

"_In the one hundred and fifty-seventh year after Aegon's Landing, King…"_ Harry frowned at the unfamiliar name. "_D…der…deron_

"_Daeron."_

"_Daeron I set out to con…que…quer, conquer Dorne."_ Harry breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he had got through the sentence with minimal mistakes.

"_Good._" Maester Luwin commented. "_Did you understand what you read?"_ This was asked pretty much every time Harry read aloud, although it wasn't often that he could reply in the affirmative.

"_Yes. Westeros gets seven kingdoms," _Harry replied haltingly.

Maester Luwin nodded. "_And what _are_ the seven kingdoms of Westeros?"_

Harry felt Hermione flinch next to him and he could only presume that she was fighting her instinct to raise her hand to answer. "_The North,_" Harry started, but that was the easy one. He tried to picture the map of Westeros that he had now seen many times, and gradually made his way southwards. "_The Vale…The Iron Islands…The Riverlands…"_

But Maester Luwin shook his head. "_The Riverlands were not a distinct kingdom. They were under the rule of The Iron Islands._"

Harry frowned, annoyed with himself for forgetting. "_The Westerlands,"_ He continued. "_The Stormlands…" _How many was that now? Five? Six? He counted on his fingers. Two more. "_Dorne and…The Reach!"_ He finished, pleased to have remembered.

"_Well done. We shall continue to read of the conquest of Dorne on the morrow._"

Harry rose quickly, pleased to be done with the day's reading, for now it would be time for him to go to the yard for weapons training.

The first time he had been brought before Ser Rodrik Cassel he had been distinctly wary of being trained to use a sword. In his mind, swords were used to attack and kill people, and he didn't really want to learn how to do that. In his studies at Hogwarts he had learned how to use offensive spells but there was much more to a wand than that; a sword was just a weapon. He wasn't denying the value of having a sword, especially as he had used the sword of Godric Gryffindor to defeat Tom Riddle's basilisk just a year ago. But when he'd been handed his first practice sword, he'd been left feeling cold.

Ser Rodrik hadn't seemed particularly impressed by _him_ either. He'd felt the muscles of Harry's arms, shaking his head and muttering words that Harry was grateful he couldn't understand. While his slender physique was ideal for his quidditch position as a seeker, it obviously wouldn't be much benefit in a sword fight.

Ser Rodrik set Jon on him first, perhaps just to see how Harry measured up. Within seconds, Harry had experienced blows on his shoulder, ribs and wrist and dropped his wooden sword. Harry snatched up his sword and held it out, ready to go again. At that moment he'd realised that learning to use a sword wasn't about killing people; it was about agility, strategy, strength and discipline. It was a battle of both mind and body and he was determined to master it. There were times when he woke the next morning, sporting various coloured bruises and barely able to move from deep rooted aches, that he considered sitting out weapons training that day but he never did.

Hermione would give him a look of concern whenever she caught sight of a particularly hideous bruise but she never suggested he stop. "I wish I could learn," she admitted to him over breakfast one morning. Harry nearly choked on his mouthful of bread. "I know I'd be awful but I just feel so vulnerable here." She glanced nervously around the great hall and Harry could understand what she meant. When they'd had their wands they had the reassurance of knowing that they could perform some sort of spell to protect themselves. Without them, they were defenceless. It was one of the reasons why Harry had relented to taking up weapons training in the first place, so that at least he had some idea how to defend himself physically.

"It wouldn't really make a difference though." He said when he'd cleared his throat. "Practically any man would be able to defeat you in a sword fight no matter how hard you trained; you'd just never be strong enough." A defiant fire burned in her eyes and Harry gulped. "You'd be better off learning some sort of self-defence." He added quickly. "You know, like, punch them in the nose, elbow them in the ribs or kick them in the crotch." The tension she was holding seemed to ease and she shook her head with a grim smile.

"Back home there's this sort of romanticism attached to the time of knights, ladies and castles, isn't there? But I'm under no illusion." She sighed and cast a sweeping glance around the hall. "I wonder if anyone here knows any self-defence?"

Harry echoed her gaze with a frown. "I don't think they've ever really considered it. If they've got a sword, shield and armour I doubt they see the value in being able to throw a good punch. And even if they did, I bet they've never tried to teach the skills to a lady."

Hermione scoffed and muttered "Lady, indeed," under her breath as she took a bite of bread and honey. "It would be worth taking up a sword and getting as many bruises as you do just to avoid going to _needlework _or_ music_." She said the words with the same dismissive tone she used when she had talked about divination back at Hogwarts. "Can you honestly think of anything so pointless as being able to sing or play the harp for the rest of your life? Or put stitches onto a piece of fabric? I wouldn't mind if it was something practical like making clothes, but we only ever do decorative stuff like embroideries and tapestries. I don't know how much longer I can put up with sitting through those tortures with Septa Mordane."

Harry ate a bit more of his breakfast to avoid laughing.

Since that morning, as far as Harry knew, Hermione had never been to another session of music or needlework.

As he stepped out into the mid-morning sunshine, he found Robb and Jon waiting for him at the bottom of Maester Luwin's turret.

"_There you are. We thought you were never coming out._" Robb said, pushing himself away from the wall.

"_Reading is more…important than fighting,"_ Hermione commented with a slight smile.

"_We'll have to disagree on that, my lady,"_ Robb replied and Harry smiled at the formality. All the boys knew that Hermione disliked being addressed as a lady ever since she had refused to learn to ride her horse in side-saddle form. Hullen, the Master-of-Horse, had tried to convince her that ladies did not sit astride horses, to which Hermione had declared that she wasn't a lady. Harry had been worried at first that Hermione would become upset by the moniker and he was going to tell Robb to stop, but she seemed to take it in good grace. _"When a battle is won with reading and not with fighting, then I will gladly change my mind._"

Hermione's shook her head a little but her smile remained.

"_Are you coming to watch?"_ Jon asked.

"_No, I go ride with Arya and Sansa."_ Hermione replied, walking in the direction of the stables. _"Don't break bones,_" she said, semi-seriously.

"_Don't fall off your horse!_" Robb called to her retreating back. "_Come on, Ser Rodrik's probably waiting._" They walked quickly to the training yard, eager to start. "_Are you going to put up more of a fight today, _Potter_? I reckon I beat you in about ten seconds yesterday."_

Harry caught a few of the words and was helped by Robb's grin and the ten fingers he held up. "_I beat you today._" He replied with a grin of his own. He highly doubted he _would_ beat either of them any time soon but the banter was part of the experience.

Ser Rodrik _was_ waiting for them with Theon Greyjoy, but not to start training. "_There's been a rider from Deepwood Motte, boys"_ He said with a dark look on his face_. "Galbart Glover's men have come across a deserter of the Night's Watch. Lord Eddard rides to meet him shortly." _

Harry saw Jon and Robb wear equally dark looks but the meaning was quite lost on him. "_What is go on?"_ he asked.

"_Someone's about to lose their head, _Potter," Theon said, though he didn't look as bothered as the others. When Harry still looked confused, Theon grabbed one of the training swords and mimed severing Harry's head. Harry flinched, an icy finger creeping up his spine.

"_Lord Stark will kill?"_ he asked with a feeling of dread. The others all nodded. _"Why?"_

"_The breaking of a sworn oath is punishable by death." _Ser Rodrik replied gruffly. "_You do not take the black lightly, boy."_ And with that, he left, leaving Harry still nonplussed. The others started following in Ser Rodrik's footsteps and Harry joined them.

"_You know what the Night's Watch is, don't you?" _Jon asked him, sensing Harry's continued confusion_. "Taking the Black?"_

Harry nodded hesitantly. _"The Wall,"_ he said. The Wall was as it said; a wall. But Harry had been told that it stood hundreds of feet high and stretched for miles across Westeros.

"_Yes. The brothers of the Night's Watch vow to serve on the Wall for the rest of their life." _Jon explained.

"_So…if you go…you die?" _Harry asked, feeling that he already knew the answer. Jon nodded.

Harry felt sick. Desertion wasn't something new. He knew there'd been soldiers shot during the muggle World Wars for running away and there were probably similar incidences throughout Earth's complexes history. But killing someone for being scared or a coward, left Harry feeling very hollow.

The stables were a hive of activity as people prepared for the ride. The stable boys were quickly saddling up the horses while the squires and pages ran all over the place to prepare the men who would be accompanying Lord Stark.

The news from Deepwood Motte must have come in very recently for he could see that Hermione's horse was yet to be unsaddled. She wore a very solemn expression as she stood with her horse out of the way of everyone else. Arya was standing next to her, watching with wide eyes.

Lord Stark entered into the courtyard, striding over to his mount. Harry paused, contemplating, and then walked over to the Lord of Winterfell.

"_Do you wish to come, Harry?"_ Lord Stark asked when he saw him approach. He swung up onto his horse and Harry tried not to feel intimidated as Lord Stark gazed down on him, layered in his leather armour and furs.

"_I do not, my lord. I…"_ Harry steeled himself. He had faced Voldemort, a basilisk and hundreds of dementors – he could tell Eddard Stark what he thought of this execution. _"I wish you not do this. To kill is bad."_

Lord Stark's face was devoid of any emotion, though his horse shifted impatiently underneath him. "_You think I take pleasure in the killing of men?" _he asked.

Harry held Lord Stark's gaze. _"No."_

"_This man has broken a solemn vow to the gods, abandoned his brothers and turned against the King's justice. He knew the punishment for such an act and now that justice will find him."_ Harry dearly wished he had a better understanding of this language for he was only able to distinguish a few of the words Eddard Stark had spoken. He could sense that they had attracted the attention of many of those in the courtyard, though he did not look away from Lord Stark.

Harry struggled to think of the words to argue his point. _"To kill does not… make right. Life is…"_

"_Sacred,"_ Hermione called, drawing both Harry and Lord Stark's attention. She blushed under their gazes but radiated an air of defiance.

Lord Stark looked back to Harry pensively. "_You will come,"_ he ordered and he signalled for someone to bring Harry a horse.

Harry frowned. _"I do not want – "_ He could feel the people in the courtyard bristle and Lord Stark cut across him.

"_You will come."_

Lord Stark wheeled his horse around but Harry could still feel everyone else's eyes on him. He considered refusing again, but he reminded himself that without his wand he was very vulnerable. He had probably already broken some sort of hospitality rule by confronting Lord Stark in the first place.

Harry mounted his horse, ignoring the stares and focused on not making a fool of himself on the actual ride; after all, two months ago he'd never even sat on a horse!

There were some raised voices behind him and Harry turned to see that Hermione had mounted her horse as well. She still held her expression of defiance as all those around her looked on in surprise.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Harry asked in English. "I don't think women are supposed to go to executions."

"Of course I don't _want_ to go and see someone beheaded!" she retorted. "But I think…I think I need to. I know we've been here a while now, but this place is still a foreign land and I need to understand it better – the good and the bad."

Harry didn't see the point of trying to convince her to stay behind as Hermione always pretty much did as she thought she should do. He looked over the courtyard to see what Lord Stark would make of it. Jory Cassel, the captain of the guard, Ser Rodrik and Hullen were all looking at Hermione and talking to Lord Stark. Whether they were in favour of her joining their party or not, Harry couldn't tell, but he highly doubted it. Lord Stark was sending Hermione one of his unreadable gazes, but after a few seconds he looked away and nobody made any move to get Hermione to dismount.

"You're going to find it hard to keep up," Harry warned as they walked their horses forward. "I don't think they're going to ride at a gentle pace and you're a worse rider than I am." Hermione frowned at his words but did not deny them.

"_You are both either very brave or very stupid,_" Robb said as he rode over to them, though a smile lingered about his face. "_There are not many grown men who would openly criticise my father or dare to defy him."_

Harry did not respond. What more was there to say that he could actually express?

"_We do not like…pointless death."_ Hermione said. "_It is not our way."_

"_Maybe, but you're in the North now." _Robb pointed out.

"_We want no anger from Lord Eddard,_" Hermione explained.

"You_ won't have angered my father, Hermione,"_ Robb reassured her. "_It's my mother you'll have to watch out for._" He grinned as Hermione blanched and Harry couldn't blame her. He doubted that Lady Catelyn would be particularly impressed with her unexpected participation on this trip.

Someone called Robb's name at the head of the party and he turned his horse. "_Safe journey, _Potter_, my lady._"

Harry suddenly became aware of someone small standing between his and Hermione's horses. "_Arya_?" he said but she put a finger to his lips to make him quiet.

"_Take me with you,"_ she pleaded to them.

"_No," _Harry and Hermione replied flatly. "_You are too small." _Hermione added.

"_Robb told me that the first time he went he was only eight years old and I'm nine."_ Arya argued.

"_Lord Stark say no, we say no."_ Harry said. He wasn't about to defy Eddard Stark for the second time in only a matter of minutes.

Arya turned her back on him, obviously believing him to be a lost cause. "_If I was a boy, Father would have let me go. That's not fair, is it?"_

Hermione seemed to struggle to find the right words. _"It is not up to us, Arya. I am sorry."_ She said gently.

The little girl screwed up her face in despair, ducked under Harry's horse and sprinted away. Hermione sent Harry a pained expression but he just shrugged his shoulders.

The command came to move out and Harry braced himself for the ride ahead. Their horses moved automatically after the others in the party. They passed out of the south gate and the pace picked up significantly.

After a few minutes, he noticed Jon peel off from the party and circle back to ride with them. "_You're both making me nervous,"_ Jon called over the pounding of the hooves. "_I keep looking over my shoulder to check neither of you have fallen off your horse so I'm going to ride back here to stop my neck hurting."_

Harry wanted to respond but he was focusing too much on _not_ falling off. He was grateful for Jon's presence though. At the back of the group there were only some of Winterfell's guardsmen and Harry doubted whether they'd be overly concerned should he or Hermione come into any difficulty.

As the minutes stretched by, Harry could feel himself relaxing slightly – but only slightly. As they travelled through a dark, dense forest, his mind turned to what lay ahead and the cold sensation crept up his back again. He had never seen someone die before. He had been around death, yes, when Voldemort had killed his parents and Professor Quirrell had tried to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone. He'd even destroyed that memory of Tom Riddle with a basilisk fang but that hadn't been a real, living person – at least Harry didn't think so.

Executions still took place in some countries in his muggle world, he knew that (not that he agreed with them) and it wasn't that long ago that they'd stopped in the United Kingdom. But Harry was pretty sure those had been for the most serious crimes, like murder. This man of the Night's Watch had broken a promise – a very serious promise, yes, but it wasn't as though anybody had been seriously hurt. It didn't seem as though his actions were bad enough to lose his life over. He'd broken plenty of rules at Hogwarts and the worst anybody had ever done to him was to dock some house-points and give him a detention. But people _had_ been given the death sentence in Wizarding Britain too, for Nearly Headless Nick had almost lost his head. Harry didn't think that they still executed people though. N_o, we just suck out their souls._

Harry shifted uncomfortably on his horse as he thought about the Wizards prison, Azkaban. He had a feeling that many of its inhabitants would chose death over a lifetime of having your happiness and sanity leeched off of you.

Even worse, he recalled that he'd thought Sirius Black had deserved to get the Dementor's Kiss. When he'd been in the Shrieking Shack, he'd actually seriously considered killing Sirius himself! He hadn't though, he had to remind himself. He hadn't let Sirius and Remus Lupin kill Peter Pettigrew either, even though Peter had been the real one to betray his parents and murder all those muggles. Would he have let them administer the kiss to Pettigrew, though? The uncomfortable connotations to that question stayed with him all the way to their destination.

The place of execution was on the side of a large hill. A ring of standing stones surrounded a wooden block that was obviously where the man was to be beheaded. The party from Deepwood Motte were already there. Harry counted twenty men in all. A grey haired, bearded man in an impressive fur coat moved forward to welcome Lord Stark.

"_That's Galbart Glover,"_ Jon said as they dismounted. "_He's the Master of Deepwood Motte."_

"_A Maester?"_ Harry frowned. Glover didn't look like the quiet, learned Maester Luwin of Winterfell.

"_No, _Master_," _Jon corrected. "_It means he's not quite a Lord."_

Harry nodded, taking a firm hold of his horse's reins. His thighs ached horribly from the ride but he ignored them. Hermione looked very pale as she came to stand next to him. She was shivering despite the thick layers of clothing. Jon noticed too and began to unfasten his cloak but she shook her head.

"_No, Jon. You have it._" She insisted.

A shout echoed from the other side of the stone circle as the prisoner was brought forward. When Harry saw him, he felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach and he heard Hermione gasp. This brother of the Night's Watch looked barely a couple of years older than he was.

The boy, for you could hardly call this person a man, had chestnut hair that hung limp and greasy against his scalp. His skin was the colour of milk and his eyes… Harry didn't think he'd ever seen a pair of eyes so full of fear.

He was being dragged, kicking and screaming, before the block by two of Glover's men. For once, Harry was glad that he was having difficulty in understanding what the boy was saying. Disapproving looks showed on the faces of those watching though Hermione's eyes seemed to glistening with tears of fury.

"Some justice," she spat.

Lord Stark seemed to question the boy but Harry was too far away to hear or understand what was said. The boy just wailed and held out his hands as though begging for his life. After a minute, Lord Stark nodded and the boy was forced down to the block, his head jutting out over the edge.

"_No! Please!"_ The boy's yells were loud enough now for them hear. "_Mother!"_

He could feel Hermione shuddering next to him and he put out a hand to comfort her but she pushed it away, the tears leaking down her cheeks.

Harry felt slightly surreal as he watched Lord Stark draw the biggest sword he had ever seen – the same way he'd felt just before Buckbeak's execution.

"_In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name," _Lord Stark declared loudly, while the boy continued to sob. "_King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die_."

Harry considered closing his eyes or turning away; after all, he had not wanted to see this. He wasn't scared of seeing death; he just didn't think that someone else had the right to take a life away.

Lord Stark positioned the sword backwards and Harry steeled himself. If Eddard Stark wanted Harry to see, then he decided that he _would_ see, but Harry knew he wouldn't come again if another situation like this should arise.

The motion of the sword was a blur as it swung downwards and the boy's final sob was cut short as his head was separated from the rest of his body. It fell to the ground with a soft, wet noise and the body's life blood drenched the immediate vicinity, staining it a dark red. The silence on the hill was almost deafening in the absence of the boy's cries.

* * *

A/N I've said before that this is a sort of merge between the books and show. I'm just going to clear up something about their ages and when this story is set. Harry and Hermione land in Westeros about two years before the beginning of the events in 'Game of Thrones' so this execution is not the one in episode one. That makes them all currently closer to their ages in the books than the show because there's roughly a 2 year difference between them.

There was still quite a strong Hermione presence and that's basically because she would be having a much harder time fitting in to Westeros than Harry would. It doesn't necessarily mean she's going to be the focus of the story. _Both _Harry and Hermione are.

Anyway, hope you didn't get too depressed reading this.

Lil Drop of Magic


	6. Chapter Five

A/N Thank you, you marvellous human beings, for all the love.

Apologies for this chapter taking longer than usual to come out. I've been on holiday, which makes uploading a little difficult. So, if this chapter has a European tinge to it (I really don't think that it does) then that would be because parts of it were written in Germany and Luxembourg and others while being driven through Belgium and France!

On with the story!

* * *

Chapter 5

Catelyn was angry with him.

Ned could sense it as soon as he entered her bedchamber. He hadn't seen his lady wife since early that morning. He and his fellow riders had returned to Winterfell just before nightfall and he'd been informed that Catelyn had taken an early meal and retired to her chambers. He had forsaken his own supper, having left his appetite by the execution block, and headed straight to the godswood to clean his sword. It had seemed to take longer to wash the blood off of his greatsword tonight.

Catelyn stood by a roaring fire, the flames casting distorted flickering shadows around the room as Ned sat on her bed with a deep sigh. "He was a boy." Ned said bleakly. "Barely older than Robb."

Catelyn flinched but said nothing. He knew that she disliked it when he carried out the King's justice. _He_ disliked carrying it out too but it had never occurred to him to do anything other than his duty.

"I'm glad I did not take Bran." Ned admitted as the condemned boy's screams echoed in his mind. He had briefly considered sending for his third son to witness the justice but the boy still felt too young. Soon. Bran would come soon.

"And what of Arya?" Catelyn asked coldly, giving him a sharp look.

Ned frowned. "Arya?"

"After you left this morning, Arya locked herself in her room." Catelyn explained. "It took until mid-afternoon for her to come out. Do you have any idea _why_ she was upset?"

Ned furrowed his brow. He had been briefly aware of Arya being present when they had readied to leave but what had caused her such turmoil, he couldn't fathom.

"She wanted to go with you," Catelyn stated and Ned nearly laughed until he remembered that Arya had apparently been very upset.

"She knows I wouldn't take her," Ned replied.

"No, she _thought_ she knew that until you permitted that girl to go."

Ned frowned at her choice of words. "Catelyn,"he began but she cut across him, obviously getting to the root of what was bothering her.

"She sets a bad example to the girls, Ned. No wonder Arya gets confused about what is right or wrong for someone of her status." She paced the room, her arms gesturing how severe the situation was. "Luckily, Sansa is old enough to know what is expected of her but Arya – Arya's always been easily led."

"That is true." Ned agreed, but his wife wasn't finished yet.

"When that girl – "

"Her name is Hermione," Ned interjected and Catelyn's eyes flashed angrily.

"When she stopped attending music or needlework do you know how long Arya complained about her own participation? She still talks to me of it." She put her hands on her hips and shook her head slightly.

"I seem to recall you mentioning her dislike of those activities many a moon's turn before Hermione arrived here." Ned pointed out.

"I did," Catelyn conceded. "But back then she never thought she'd truly be given permission to stop attending, Ned. Now she thinks it's just a matter of time."

"I hope you have explained to Arya that Hermione does not waste that time; she uses it to further her learning of the Common Tongue." Ned argued. "Maester Luwin tells me she is making exceptional progress – you must have seen her reading everywhere. She's even read to me, Catelyn. And when she hasn't got her nose in a book they tell me that she writes. Apparently she's filled hundreds of pieces of parchment in her own language. You could hardly argue that she is a bad influence for the girls – she sounds more academically dedicated than any woman I've ever met."

Catelyn appeared stung by his words and turned back to the fire. "Why did you let her accompany the riding party today?"

Ned didn't like the idea of talking to his wife's back so he stood and moved to the fire too.

"Both Harry and Hermione seemed to find the idea of sentencing someone to death abhorrent." Ned said.

"Do they not execute people in Lorath?"Catelyn wondered with the tiniest trace of scorn.

Ned paused, questioning for the hundredth time why he had not told his wife the truth of Harry and Hermione's arrival. It wasn't a question of trust; he knew that he could rely on Catelyn. It was more an issue of belief. Both he and his wife held strong beliefs, just not in the same gods. Ned had always respected Catelyn's reverence of the faith of the seven. Those were the gods that she had been brought up worshipping and he had made sure that a sept was built at Winterfell for her arrival. She, in turn, was respectful towards the old gods, though he knew that the heart tree unnerved her.

If he confided in her that Harry and Hermione had appeared out of nowhere into the godswood, possibly at the will of the gods, he worried what her reaction would be. She'd almost certainly be angry with him, both for lying to her and keeping something this important from her. She'd be scared too – not really for herself, but for the children. One of the things Ned loved most about his wife was her devotion to their children; she would put their needs above her own at every single time of asking. If Catelyn believed her children to be in any sort of danger from Harry and Hermione then she would not rest until the threat was somehow removed. Supposing Ned _was _meant to save and protect Harry and Hermione, he could hardly be forced to choose between the wishes of his wife and the wishes of the gods without dishonouring himself. No, it was better for everyone if Catelyn was unaware of Harry and Hermione's true arrival, even if that decision flooded him with guilt.

"I'm unaware of how justice is carried out in Lorath." Ned replied smoothly. "But guessing by their reaction, it is something they are unfamiliar with. I didn't want them to get a false perception of how the execution was carried out. If they are going to be staying in Westeros they need to become familiar with our ways. I let Hermione come so that she could _understand_, Catelyn."

"And did she?" Catelyn enquired. "Did either of them understand why you had to kill 'a boy', as you said?"

Ned sighed. He would have preferred not to show Harry and Hermione the full extent of the law at all, and he certainly wished that they hadn't been present that afternoon. The boy did not die a good death. "No, I don't think so." He admitted.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, watching and listening to the crackling of the flames. Ned glanced at his wife – admiring as he so often had before how beautiful she was. The light from the fire seemed to set her auburn locks aflame. A few stray hairs hung loose, framing her face. He longed to brush them away and take her in his arms.

"She should be married, Ned." Catelyn said softly. Distracted by his previous thoughts, it took him a few seconds to realise what she was suggesting. He looked at her in shock.

"No."

"Why not? She is of the right age." Catelyn pointed out.

"Barely" He argued. In truth, he did not know her age though he estimated she was of thirteen or fourteen years. Not many maids were married that young.

"The servants tell me she has had her first bleeding and there are many good men in Winterfell in need of a wife." His own wife continued eagerly but paused with a sigh. "Though I warn you, Ned, if you let her carry on in her independent ways for much longer, there will not be many who would have her. But if you find her a husband now then she will accustom more quickly to the ways of the North, as I did."

"This will not make Arya suddenly start acting like a lady." Ned said, knowing the real motivating force behind Catelyn's words. She pursed her lips into a thin line but did not respond. "I have no concerns with how both Hermione and Harry have conducted themselves since their arrival at Winterfell, despite what obstacles they may have faced to get here. They came here to seek my protection and they have proved themselves worthy of it; I intend to name them as my wards." Catelyn's eyes narrowed angrily but Ned hurried on quickly. "Please understand that I do not do this to hurt you, my lady. I will explain to them that they are expected to maintain certain standards of behaviour but," he warned, "I will not expect them to change their beliefs and I will not stop them pursuing anything, unless it seriously impinges on the honour of this house."

Catelyn regarded him for a few seconds, Ned meeting her gaze. "You must do as you think right." She said eventually, before turning back to the fire.

Ned knew that she no longer wished for his presence at that moment. "I hope you sleep well." He murmured, leaving the room. He did not like arguing with his wife and mercifully those occasions had been very rare. He hoped that Catelyn believed him in that his fostering of Harry and Hermione was not as a result of their discussion. He had been considering the possibility for a while. Since their arrival he had understandably been keeping an informed watch on their actions. As far as he could tell, there was nothing about these children to cause him any concern. If he hadn't actually seen them fall from the sky then he would not have believed there to be anything unusual about them at all. The only slightly odd occurrence had happened the morning after they had arrived, when Maester Luwin had discovered Hermione's door to be unlocked. The Maester maintained his belief that he had locked the door the previous evening but, as Hermione had still been in the room anyway, the matter was soon dismissed as a peculiarity. There would always be that uncertainty nagging at the back of his mind where Harry and Hermione were concerned, but he couldn't see that that doubt was ever likely to disappear and he accepted that.

Their reactions to the executions hadn't displeased him at all. Most children of their age in Westeros would be familiar with the repercussions of breaking the King's law and be accepting, almost indifferent to an execution. In the cities, the common people even looked forward to and celebrated them. However, Harry and Hermione's despair at death proved how innocent and sheltered their lives had been thus far and it confirmed to him that they _were_ in need of his protection. He had not had the chance to speak with them since the execution for he had been eager to return to Winterfell before nightfall, but it was not too late in the evening to discuss things now.

"Please send word for Harry and Hermione to meet me in the Maester's turret." He instructed one of the guards, before making his own way there.

Maester Luwin was in his solar, writing on some parchment. "Ah, my lord, I'm glad you have come, I need your seal to send this report of the man's death to Castle Black." He handed the letter over for Ned to read. It was an accurate notification of the boy's death, though it was not a true reflection. Maester Luwin had not been there, of course, but even if he had Ned knew he would not mention the boy's screams and sobs to the men of the Night's Watch. He passed it back with a nod and Maester Luwin poured the hot wax then sealed it with the direwolf sigil of House Stark.

"Do not clear away the wax. I may have further need of it this night." Ned said. Maester Luwin gave him a curious look. "I intend to formally make Harry and Hermione my wards. But first I will ask them of how they came to be here." The Maester said nothing for a few moments. This was always a sign to Ned that he had some thoughts on the matter. "You have doubts?"

"I am not convinced that they are ready to provide an explanation yet, my lord." Maester Luwin said. "Their use of the Common Tongue has come a long way, I grant you, but this would be a very important discussion. I worry that something vital might be misinterpreted or confused should we ask them too soon."

Ned considered his words. As their tutor, Maester Luwin would have the greatest understanding of Hermione and Harry's ability to converse in the Common Tongue. Explaining how you could appear out of thin air was probably not going to require the use of simpler vocabulary.

"You are right," Ned agreed, however frustrating it was. He had been waiting two moon's turns for answers but he wasn't going to be getting them tonight.

"Soon, my lord." Maester Luwin reassured him. "Hermione in particular will be ready very soon." Ned nodded, though it did not make him feel much better. "The fostering of Harry and Hermione is slightly unconventional due to both their age and their lack of a known House or family, but I see no reason to advise you against it apart from our non-existent knowledge of their backgrounds." He paused. "Do you still wish me to draw up the fostering deeds?"

"Yes." Ned replied. He would much prefer to have a greater idea of the children's past, but it did not change the feeling he had that he was meant to protect them. "Those pieces of wood we found on them can also be returned. I do not see the value in keeping them any longer."

There was a knock at the door. Ned called for them to enter while Maester Luwin moved to complete his requests.

They did not look overly pleased to see him but Ned had expected that. After Catelyn's suggestion that Hermione be married off, Ned found himself looking at the girl with a more critical eye. She _was_ just old enough for marrying.

He had been led to believe that girls of that age spent a lot of time considering their marriage prospects. Was Hermione the same? Did she seek a husband? He'd seen or heard no evidence of such.

He realised that Hermione and Harry were looking at him expectantly and he put his thoughts aside.

"I wish to talk to you of what happened this afternoon." He said.

"What is there to say?" Hermione asked. In the glow of the lamp light she looked very pale and he could tell by the anger in her voice that she would not be quick to forget what she had seen.

"The world can be a very cruel place sometimes," Ned began. "Harsh decisions need to be made to keep order and peace. Do you know where many men of the Night's Watch come from, how they are recruited?"

"Bad men." Hermione supplied.

"Criminals, yes: poachers, thieves, rapists and violent men taken from the dungeons of Westeros at their own choosing instead of losing a body part or their life. These men are free to leave Castle Black during their training and receive their original punishment instead, or they will go on to make their vow to serve on the Wall. Life as a brother of the Night's Watch is very bleak." He recalled some of the few things his brother Benjen, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, had divulged to him over the years and his eyes darkened. "And I wouldn't be surprised if it has crossed the mind of every single one of those men to leave at some point, despite their vow. One of the few things stopping them would be the knowledge that if they _did_ desert, then their life would be forfeit. As far as I'm aware, not a single deserter has managed to escape the King's justice."

"But why kill? Why not put in…dungeon?" Hermione asked.

Ned let out a low laugh. "Do you know how many men would leave the Wall if the worst that would happen is a spell in a dungeon? If it was that easy to leave all those criminals would swoop down on the North putting the safety of the people in jeopardy. The Wall itself would not be defendable against the wildlings with so few numbers, putting our lives at further risk." Ned argued. "I do not take killing lightly but I will do what I must to protect my people and keep the King's peace."

"Was he a bad man?" Harry enquired after a lengthy pause. Ned assumed he was referring to whether the boy had been a criminal or not.

"I don't know," he admitted. "When you take the black your past is no longer important. All the brothers are treated the same for they make the same vow. This is the way it has been for thousands of years. I do not expect you to suddenly be accepting, but I want you both to understand."

They exchanged solemn looks. "We do not like it but this is your law." Hermione said heavily. "Our law is not much better." They shared another dark look and Ned was severely tempted to enquire further into their lives but Maester Luwin announced that he had the parchment ready, cutting him off.

Ned nodded, while Harry and Hermione looked on curiously.

"It is my wish that you both become my wards." He explained.

"Like Theon?" Hermione asked and Ned noted a tinge of wariness.

"Not exactly like Theon." Ned replied with a shake of his head. "He became my ward as part of the terms of peace after his father's ill-considered rebellion eight years ago. You would not be held under the same restrictions as he is and you are free to leave Winterfell at any time of your choosing."

This seemed to relax her a little.

"I simply mean to offer you both my protection." He explained. "While you are here your well-being will be my responsibility and you will be looked on as though a part of my family."

Hermione looked taken aback by his words and spoke quickly to Harry in their own tongue. He too became almost troubled by what was said. "This is a very kind offer, my lord." Hermione said softly. "We do not… we are not worth of it. You have been too nice already."

"Of course I will not insist that you accept, though it would please me if you did." Ned said warmly. "When I was a boy, I too was fostered. I was sent to The Eeyrie, in the Vale and was a ward of Jon Arryn along with Robert Baratheon – King Robert as he is now. Those were some of the happiest days of my life." He thought back wistfully on how carefree he had been in those days, not knowing of the dark times that approached. "It will not be long before you reach the age of maturity and you will have to decide on your futures. If you are known to have been a ward of mine, you may find that greater opportunities would be opened unto you."

They seemed quite stunned by his words though Ned couldn't be sure how much they had understood.

"Why do you do this for us?" Hermione asked eventually. She didn't seem suspicious of his motives, just surprised.

"It is quite common for important Houses to foster children from other families, Hermione." Maester Luwin explained.

"But we are not from important House." She pointed out. "We are not…special."

"Then why are you here?" Ned asked before he could stop himself.

Hermione gave Harry a nervous look, as Maester Luwin gave Ned one too.

"We do not know how." She said slowly and he could truly see the confusion in her eyes. "We wake up, we are here."

Ned held his breath. The gods. It _was_ the work of the gods.

"And where were you before you woke up?" Maester Luwin asked, giving in to his curiosity too. "Where are you from?"

Hermione exchanged another anxious look with Harry and he nodded. "We do not know," she replied in a higher pitched voice than normal.

Ned felt his eyes widen in shock. "How can you not know?"

"Where we are from is not on Maester Luwin's map." She explained.

Maester Luwin stood quickly and retrieved the map showing the known world; the huge continents of Westeros, Essos and Sothoryos with their major cities, mountains, seas and rivers labelled. Ned peered down at the map incredulously.

"Are you sure?" Maester Luwin enquired. "You definitely know it is not featured somewhere on this map?"

Hermione gave a small, tight-lipped nod.

"And you think you're not special," Maester Luwin commented dryly, shaking his head in wonder.

"We not know how to tell you." Hermione admitted. "It is very…odd."

Odd. That was one way to describe two children being transported somewhere from the unknown world to the godswood in Winterfell. Ned should have known that getting some answers from Harry and Hermione would only lead to new mysteries to solve, more questions to puzzle over.

"We want to go home," Harry said, speaking for the first time in a few minutes. "But we not know how."

"It will be very difficult to find a way back if you don't know exactly where home is." Maester Luwin pointed out. "Almost impossible, really."

"We _will_ find a way." Hermione declared, the strength returning to her voice. "If we were brought here, there should be a way to get back."

Ned doubted the possibility, though he couldn't claim to know the will of the gods. Perhaps they would want to move Harry and Hermione back some day. He shouldn't be surprised really, that they came from somewhere unknown. Their language had been a complete mystery to Maester Luwin and their clothing had been unusual. Harry even possessed that glass device over his eyes to improve his vision – something Ned had never come across before.

Ned knew that parts of the world were unknown to the people of Westeros and Essos. Indeed, the map that Maester Luwin possessed only showed the northern most part of Sothoryos. What lay south of that, to the east of Essos or to the west of Westeros was, well, unknown.

How Harry and Hermione hoped to navigate to a place with no destination he couldn't fathom.

"I hope you find what you seek," Ned said honestly. "But until you know where your path takes you, you are of course still welcome at Winterfell and my offer of wardship still remains."

They discussed the prospect again for a minute before Hermione said. "We are…honoured, Lord Stark. Thank you for your kindness."

The next few minutes involved clarifying the details of the fostering. Harry and Hermione protested profusely when Ned stipulated that they would each receive an allowance of a golden dragon each moon's turn.

"It is too much," Hermione said with wide eyes.

"If you intend to find a way home then it is likely that you will have need of gold in the future." Ned explained. "I trust you will spend or save wisely."

"Let us do work to make it fair," she insisted. "We cannot just take money."

"Harry you will be expected to carry out the duties of a squire anyway." Ned reminded them. "And I expect we will find other ways you can help, if you insist on earning your money." He turned to Hermione. He considered telling her she must look to Catelyn for ways she could help in Winterfell, but he knew that neither Hermione nor his wife would respond well to that. "I'm sure that Maester Luwin would make great use of your talents, Hermione."

"I most certainly would," Maester Luwin agreed, making Hermione smile.

"And there is the unwritten duty that you bear to represent my name and my family with honour," Ned said, as he'd promised Catelyn he would. "Your actions will now reflect those of the Starks of Winterfell. I know you both will not take this responsibility lightly." They nodded solemnly.

The seal of House Stark was used twice more to make the deeds official and Ned felt himself relax slightly. Catelyn may not have wanted him to foster Harry and Hermione but to him this felt right.

Maester Luwin carefully placed the parchments to the side so that the wax would dry before handing Ned two sticks from within his sleeves. It took Ned a couple of seconds to realise why he had done so.

"Oh, yes. We found these with you when you arrived." Ned said. He looked up at Harry and Hermione and was surprised to see their eyes widened in amazement as they eyed the sticks in his hand. He held them out curiously, their hands trembling slightly as they took them from him.

"Thank you," Harry said effusively, gripping the stick firmly in his hand before tucking it away in his clothing.

"They are very important for us." Hermione explained as she also hid hers away. "They are…gifts from home."

Ned nodded, feeling guilty for having kept the pieces of wood for so long when it was clear they meant a lot to the children.

They thanked him again for their sticks and making them his wards, before exiting the Maester's solar.

"Well?" Ned asked, turning to Maester Luwin.

The Maester sighed and rubbed his temples. "Quite honestly, my lord, I don't know _what_ to think."

Ned chuckled lowly. He knew the feeling.

* * *

A/N I really don't know if there's an official way of making someone a ward but it feels like there should be. Also, I think I made up the word 'wardship'. :s

Anyway, yay! Wands! Magic! Progress!

Until next time…

Lil Drop of Magic


	7. Chapter Six

A/N Thank you all for your support!

I considered holding on to this one for a bit longer as I got it written in record time, but I couldn't hold it back anymore.

* * *

Chapter 6

Hermione softly let out a breath, allowing the air to flow gently through her slightly parted lips so she wouldn't disturb the peace that surrounded her. She knew that a bird was singing in one of the trees near her but she did not hear it. She was aware that a breeze was blowing slowly through the clearing and that the ground was wet from the summer snow, but she did not feel the way the wind moved her hair or the dampness that was seeping through her clothes.

Denying her senses had taken many weeks of practice - though the sight of Harry sitting a few feet away from her was easier to shut out for she could simply close her eyes. The next phase was the hard one, though; trying to clear the hundreds of thoughts that darted through her mind every minute.

A sudden mental image of the bespectacled Professor Trelawney, looking as insect-like as ever, rose unbidden, telling her to relax her conscious mind and Hermione scowled. The senseless void she'd created around herself broke and the rest of the world came rushing back to greet her. She shivered as she became aware of just how cold it truly was.

The seasons of Westeros made little sense to her. Somehow, it was possible for summer or winter to last for years, rather than months, and there was no way of telling how long each season would be. Maester Luwin had told her that the current summer was seven years long. Though you wouldn't know it, she thought, as she eyed the small patches of snow that hadn't yet melted.

In her mind, today was Hallowe'en. She felt nerves bubbling in her stomach but attempted to dismiss them with a roll of her eyes. What was bothering her was that important things tended to happen on Hallowe'en. It could be a coincidence of course, but the troll in the girl's toilets, the first basilisk attack and Sirius Black's first attempt to get in to Gryffindor tower had all occurred on this day. Even Harry's parents, James and Lily Potter, had met their ends on Hallowe'en (though she wasn't sure whether Harry knew this or not). She knew she was being silly, especially as it wasn't really Halloween in Westeros, just in her head.

The passing of days was calculated differently here, like the seasons, and Hermione had very quickly drawn up her own calendar to correspond with when she had left Hogwarts to stop her from losing her mind. The evening that the time-turner had broken had been the sixth of June and it had still been evening when she'd woken in Winterfell. So she labelled her arrival as happening on the sixth of June too.

On Harry's 'birthday' (or _nameday _as they called it here), she had made him a very simple card from a piece of parchment Maester Luwin had given her. On the front she attempted to draw a picture of him celebrating with the Quidditch Cup that he had won a few months ago, but it wasn't a very good likeness; she'd never been particularly artistic. Finding him a gift had been more problematic, especially as her wand hadn't been returned to her by that time.

Hermione instinctively felt the lining of her cloak to make sure that her wand was still in the hidden pocket she had sewn there. She was grateful that her wasted hours in needlework had been useful for something after all. A feeling of panic rose as her fingers failed to locate her wand but then she remembered that Harry had it. He gave her an odd look.

So, with no magic and practically no possessions of her own, her choice of gift was fairly limited. In the end she decided on something practical – an English to _Common Tongue_ dictionary. She translated some of the most common words for him and wrote the phonetic spelling too. Harry had seemed very grateful for it; though she had a feeling he had referred to it only a handful of times.

They were both fairly fluent in the Common Tongue now, but Harry's reading and writing of the new language was much poorer than his speaking or listening. It was understandable that it should be that way as he used those skills much more. She wished that he'd put a bit more effort into his academics but she tried very hard not to nag him – especially not since they'd been given their wands back…

Her own birthday had passed by a few weeks ago, not that that she'd told anyone about it. Harry's following of her calendar was casual, at best, and he hadn't realised that it had gone past her birthday until about three weeks later. He'd looked incredibly guilty but she reassured him that she didn't mind. Nevertheless he'd gone to the kitchens and convinced them to bake her a large almond-flavoured cake. With some leftover almonds he created the number fifteen on the top and then stuck a candle in the cake too. He presented it to her in the great hall that evening, much to the bemusement of everyone else who dined with them. She blew out her candle with a grin, unsurprisingly wishing for them to find a way home.

Robb's nameday celebrations had taken place only a few days after that, as he too turned fifteen. She suspected that Harry had inadvertently started a Stark family tradition when he was also presented a cake, complete with a candle to blow out. There had been music and dancing too – much to Hermione and (mainly) Harry's horror. Luckily they could use their complete ignorance of the dance steps to avoid taking part. She wasn't particularly averse to dancing; she just didn't want to make a fool of herself by not knowing what to do. She'd watched the couples closely; the way their hands crossed or inter-twined, how the man would turn the woman, the way they'd rise and fall together. She had plenty of would-be partners too – Theon, Robb, Jon, even Jory and Ser Rodrik Cassel had all asked if she'd like to dance before it was understood that she _truly_ didn't know how to. She'd blushed furiously every time she had to turn one of them down, but not as much as Harry did when approached by Sansa and her friend Jeyne Poole. Sansa was scandalised by their ignorance and she made them promise that they would start attending her dance lessons. Harry looked less than pleased after that, muttering about what Ron would say if he found out.

"Your turn," she said to Harry. He passed over her wand before closing his eyes and trying to enter into what Hermione called the 'senseless bubble'. A yellowing bruise lingered over his left cheek where Robb's practice sword had hit him a few days ago. The force of the blow had separated the arm from the rest of his glasses and had required magic to fix it. She didn't know how he'd explained the miraculous repair but hoped he'd been discreet, as neither of them really wanted to reveal that they were capable of magic. The Stark family and their household had been extremely welcoming and accepting of them in the last few months (although Hermione sensed that Lady Catelyn disapproved of her) but she didn't know quite how they'd react to playing host to a witch and wizard. This society seemed very similar to the middle-ages of Europe and they had performed more than a few witch burnings at that time. She and Harry had already witnessed one execution and she didn't want the next one to be her own. It had been risky enough to admit to Lord Stark that they didn't come from anywhere he might know on his world. He'd taken the news surprisingly calmly, which made her believe that he'd suspected as much from the start.

But it wasn't as though tales of magic and magical creatures were unheard of in Westeros; Aegon the Conqueror had used dragons to assist him in becoming King nearly three hundred years ago - but it was believed that all dragons were now extinct. In one of Maester Luwin's books about known creatures of the world she'd seen reports of manticores, unicorns, krakens, centaurs, basilisks and sphinxes. When she'd read about The Wall of The Night's Watch, it was said that the man who created it 8000 years ago had used giants as well as ancient spells and sorcery. She'd also read that before man had even come to Westeros the land was home to human-like creatures called the children of the forest, who were supposed to have supernatural powers that allowed them to control other animals, or possess them, and to see into the future. Some of the tales sounded extraordinary to Hermione's ears, but that didn't mean she couldn't believe them to be true; in her world nearly all muggles believed magic and its creatures to be complete myth and look how wrong they were!

If there was some sort of secret society of witches or wizards in Westeros, Hermione had no way of knowing. It wasn't as though she could just go up to Maester Luwin and ask him. Though she _was_ seriously considering enquiring whether he had any books that were more specific to magic because only three years of Hogwarts tuition didn't seem enough knowledge to help her travel back to her own world.

If she was being honest with herself, Hermione knew she possessed more knowledge of magic than the average third year Hogwarts student. Despite her busy timetable she had managed to find the time to memorise a lot of the fourth year curriculum. She'd read all seven grades of the Standard Book of Spells before the end of her first year of Hogwarts and some of the other more advanced texts for her other subjects. She couldn't remember all of it, of course, but she'd spent the first few months at Winterfell writing down every piece of magical knowledge she could recall. Suffice to say, this took up a rather substantial amount of parchment. She would feel guilty about using up nearly all of Winterfell's paper, if she wasn't so determined not to lose any knowledge. Hermione had forced Harry to do the same in case he remembered something she missed out, but he wasn't quite as thorough as she was. Thankfully he did put a bit more effort into his description of the Patronus charm, even though there actually may not be any dementors in this world.

When she'd first been given her wand back, she was desperate to use her magic straight away, but on the way back to their rooms she and Harry had a rapid whispered conversation (despite the fact that no one would understand them), agreeing that they would only perform minimal magic in the privacy of their own chambers at this time.

It took her a long time to give herself up to sleep that night as she kept indulging in little spells in her room – levitating a quill, making her ink flash multi-coloured, extinguishing and then relighting her fire, even making her shoes dance across the floor. The only magic she'd been able to do previous to having her wand back, was to experiment with some of the ancient runes and arithmancy she'd studied. However, actually cast spells was much more satisfying. Unfortunately her euphoria had been short lived once she'd come across Harry the next morning.

She could tell that something was wrong as soon as he sat heavily next to her for breakfast. His body language was extremely negative and his face showed a deep frown. "Harry, what's wrong?" she asked in alarm.

"My wand isn't working properly," he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Why?"

"I dunno," he replied, shrugging his shoulders and stabbing a piece of bread with a fork. "Whenever I try a spell it barely works – has no power. I tried to levitate a piece of parchment and it rose about an inch for a couple of seconds before dropping back." He looked over at her with concern. "Wasn't it the same with yours?"

She shook her head mutely. "No. Mine was fine, normal."

His green eyes widened in despair. "Oh."

Hermione's mind was considering a number of different explanations but it would be much easier if she could actually see for herself. "If you finish your breakfast quickly then we'll have time to try and figure out what's going on before you go to weapons training," she said, trying to keep him calm.

He pushed the rather mutilated piece of bread away from himself. "I'm not hungry. Can we go now?"

She nodded, leaving behind what remained of her own breakfast as they hurried from the great hall. They decided to go to her room as it was closer than the Maester's turret where Harry still slept. Once the door had been securely closed she turned back to Harry. "Show me."

He cast his eyes around her room before moving to an oil lamp as he took out his wand. "_Incendio,_" he said with the correct pronunciation and wand movement. Hermione moved closer to see what happened. A couple of wispy tendrils of smoke emanated from the lamp but no flame was produced.

"Can I try?" she asked. Harry passed her the wand with a resigned air.

"_Incendio,_" she repeated. She held her breath expectantly but the results were the same; no fire, just a bit of smoke.

Harry sighed. "Well at least it's not just me," he murmured. "Can I have a go with your wand?"

When he tried it this time, the resulting eruption of large flames made them both jump. He extinguished them and they both gazed at his wand in confusion.

"Maybe it became broken when we were transported here?" Hermione said. She examined his wand closely from tip to tip but she couldn't make out any unusual bumps, chips or scratches. Despite this, she held her own wand against it and muttered, "_Reparo,_" hoping that if it was broken in anyway, then her repairing spell would fix it. She tried to levitate her quill as she had done the previous night but just like Harry had described, it hovered for a few seconds before the spell failed.

"Harry…" she started but words failed her. She honestly couldn't understand what had happened.

He took his wand back from her, muttering, "I'm gonna go to weapons training. See you later."

Harry hadn't been quite the same ever since – at least around her. When he was with others he tried to put on a façade for he couldn't really explain to them that he was upset because his magic wand wasn't working properly.

Hermione didn't know for sure, but she suspected that the problem had something to do with the phoenix feather core. She didn't know if it was possible for a wand core to break when the wood surrounding it wasn't damaged but acknowledged that there was a chance. The only other alternative she could come up with was that the phoenix feather couldn't channel their magic because, perhaps, phoenixes didn't exist in this world. In the book of animals that she'd read it had mentioned many so-called 'mythical' creatures, but there had been no reference of a phoenix or similar bird.

When she shared this theory with Harry he just nodded as though the reason why his wand didn't work wasn't really important – just that it didn't.

It took another couple of weeks before Lord Stark and Hullen gave them permission to ride horses into Winterfell's surrounding woodland so they were less likely to be disturbed when practicing new magic. They managed to go out roughly every other day when the weather wasn't bad, but they tried not to go to the same places too often.

Hermione was teaching Harry the charms and transfiguration spells they would be learning if they were in their fourth year at Hogwarts, though truth be told, she was teaching many of them to herself too. Obviously they were both using her wand as Harry's was pretty much useless. Hermione had taught herself spells many times before but it was slightly disconcerting to know that she was solely relying on her memory to perform the magic correctly. She was pleased that she'd been successful with all the spells they had tried so far, even though some of them had taken a couple of weeks to master. Unfortunately, Harry was finding things much harder going.

Hermione couldn't put her finger on why he was struggling to perform the new spells. It could be that he wasn't particularly compatible with her wand, but he could do spells he already knew with no problem. Or perhaps the reason was that she wasn't a good teacher. She sincerely hoped that it _wasn't_ her fault and she couldn't shake the feelings of guilt she got whenever she considered this possibility. Of course she didn't have the same resources that the Hogwarts professors did to teach their students, but that didn't make her feel any better each time she saw Harry's face crumple in frustration and anger whenever he failed to summon a stone from her hand. She leant Harry her notes on the spells but it didn't seem to make much difference. Another factor could be that his despair at his own malfunctioning wand was interfering in his performance; Hermione knew that she'd be inconsolable if their situations were reversed.

The only change in her own wand was that, in contrast to Harry's, her spells seemed more powerful on Westeros. She hadn't noticed the first night because she'd just been so excited to finally have her wand again, but she had to take care that her spells weren't going to cause danger. The first time she successfully summoned the stone she had to dive out of the way as it rocketed towards her like a bullet. Her wand also became quite hot if they used it for too long. Hermione had never known it to do that before, but it could be due to the effects of two people using it instead of one.

To stop her wand from overheating and to give Harry something to focus on that didn't require him rueing the faults of his own wand, Hermione had rather optimistically suggested that they try to become animagi. She had researched the theory as part of her transfiguration homework a few months ago (having been given a permission slip from Progessor McGonagall to view it), so she at least had a pretty solid understanding of what was involved. She knew that mastering how to transform into another animal was an exceptionally difficult piece of magic and she would have changed her mind about them attempting it, if Harry hadn't been so enthusiastic about the idea. It was foolish and dangerous to try and transform without having someone experienced to watch over them (though they did take it in turns, with the watcher holding the wand), but she couldn't deny that the possibility of succeeding was much more tempting than any doubts she had.

Should they become animagi, it would be a useful bit of protection for them should they come into danger – providing they didn't turn into something even more vulnerable like a snail or a goldfish. Hopefully she didn't have any traits in common with either of those animals because according to her research that is what was taken into account. She didn't have any choice what she might be, which was a relief in one way as it meant she wouldn't have to come up with the perfect animal, but could also mean all her efforts were for naught should her turning into a snail or fish come true.

They had been attempting the animagus transformation for over two months now and it had taken that long for Hermione to feel like she had grasped forming her 'senseless bubble'. This was apparently essential so that you could then clear your mind and make a connection to the animal within. She took comfort in that it was supposed to get easier once that first contact had been made. Although, according to Professor Lupin, it had taken his friends three years to manage to complete the transformation. Hermione certainly didn't plan on still being sat in the mud in three years' time.

If Maester Luwin did have some magic-themed books then she hoped they would point herself and Harry in the right direction to start their journey home. As much as she liked the people, she could see there was nothing here to help them get back. Their future wasn't at Winterfell – not that people hadn't tried to plan one _for_ her. A couple of days after Harry had given her the birthday cake, she'd had an extremely awkward conversation with Lord Stark where he enquired whether she had any aspirations to become married.

Her jaw gaped open. _"N-no, my lord!"_ She eventually managed to stammer – half hoping he was joking.

"_As I explained to you when you became my ward, part of my responsibility is to help you prepare for your future."_ Lord Eddard said and his matter-of-fact tone convinced her that he wasn't pulling her leg. _"A marriage to a good man will offer you security. I know that you are still becoming accustomed to life here, but should you wish to wed I will endeavour to find – "_

" – _My Lord, that is very generous of you,"_ she interrupted, finding it unbearable to hear another word. _"But it is not needed. I do not want to marry!"_ She considered explaining that where she was from people didn't arrange marriages and certainly not for someone so young, but he seemed to notice her sincerity.

"_You are sure?"_ he asked.

She nodded, letting out a strange squeaking noise in response.

"_Very well. If you should change your mind don't hesitate to come to me."_ He said before walking away. It had taken her a few minutes to gather her wits and seek out Harry. She knew that Lord Stark had meant well, and in the histories of Westeros that she'd read, it wasn't uncommon for a woman as young as her to be married. But it had still taken her completely by surprise.

Harry laughed when she told him but then realised she was being serious. She reassured him that Lord Eddard had let the matter drop quite quickly but he still looked concerned for her safety – as though he expected her to be abducted and forcefully married to some brute.

Unbeknownst to Harry though, she had been receiving some very basic weapons training. After their conversation about the possibility, Hermione had resolved to find someone regardless of whether Harry thought it was a good idea or not. She knew she'd never forgive herself if she got into danger and she hadn't covered every way to defend herself. The question was, who to ask? She didn't think many of Lord Stark's household would see it as a particularly worthwhile use of their time considering how busy they were with their other duties and seasoned warriors like Ser Rodrik, Jory Cassel and other members of the guard made her slightly nervous.

No, her best options were Theon, Robb or Jon, seeing as she was already acquainted with them and they were young enough to remember exactly what it was like to learn. Theon Greyjoy was the most experienced of the three and had always been very courteous towards her. He liked to smile and tell jokes but often did so at the expense of others. Robb also liked to joke with her by calling her _my lady_ but that didn't make her uncomfortable as Theon's jests sometimes did.

Jon Snow was quiet and seemed to give things due consideration, which was a trait she valued. Hermione was sure that at times he must find it very hard at Winterfell given that Lord Stark had conceived him out of wedlock to a woman other than Lady Catelyn. In short, he was a bastard, though Hermione hated that term. Most of the Starks treated him as though he was no different from the rest of them and Arya positively adored him. But Hermione had noticed that there was absolutely no warmth in Lady Catelyn's eyes when she looked on him. It was perfectly clear that she hated Jon. Hermione could understand that many women wouldn't want their husband's illegitimate child around, but she didn't think it at all fair to blame it on Jon himself – it was hardly his fault. She knew what it was like to be looked down on because of the circumstances of your birth and she felt a connection to him. It was for this reason that she decided to ask Jon to help her rather than Robb. Robb probably would have been a perfectly good instructor too but she expected that Jon was often looked over for his half-brother. She hoped that she wasn't showing pity for Jon (she doubted he'd appreciate that), it was more like making him realise that he was important too.

"_You want me to teach you sword fighting?"_ he asked with raised eyebrows when she approached him.

"_Yes and,"_ she clenched her fist and mimed punching him before drawing and shooting an imaginary bow; her use of the Common Tongue was still quite poor at this time.

"_How to shoot and punch someone?" _She nodded. He stared at her curiously for a while then shrugged his shoulders. "_I don't see why not. Let's go get a couple of practice swords."_ He pointed over towards the training yard but Hermione shook her head and put a finger to her lips.

"_No see_," she said, hoping he'd grasp her meaning.

"_You want to learn in secret?" _He said. She nodded again. She was prepared that she'd be very bad at using weapons and fighting, but that didn't mean she wanted everyone to see how awful she was. _"That might work better. I'm not sure Ser Rodrik would want to watch this anyway."_ His lips pulled down as he considered what to do. "_Give me a couple of days and I'll find us somewhere to go._"

He'd been true to his word. Every morning, just as the sun was breaking over the horizon, Jon would escort her to a far corner of godswood to practice. When she had been shown the wooded area upon her arrival, Hermione had no idea that it was so big. Although they sometimes made plenty of noise, it seemed they had never been overheard or discovered for no one had ever talked to her of it. Many of the household would still be asleep at that time, but there were also plenty of people hurriedly getting things ready for the day.

The first time she picked up one of the practice swords, she was amazed at how heavy it was. After only a few seconds of extending her arm out so Jon could check her grip and balance, the sword started to tremble as the muscles of her arm began to burn. Jon noticed the lack of strength and they spent the first couple of weeks just building up her muscles. She was more successful with the bow though, as the small one her brought for her to practice with didn't require as much power to draw back. Her aim wasn't too bad either, which she put down to a few years of having to be precise with her spell work.

Jon chuckled at her first attempt to punch something. "_Do you want to break your thumb?"_ He took her hand and remoulded it so that her thumb wasn't protruding any more. "_That's better. Right, now punch me in the stomach._" He pointed to make sure that she understood but she bit her lip nervously.

"_You are sure?"_ She asked. She didn't want to hurt him.

"_Hit me as hard as you can."_ He confirmed.

Hermione gave a half-hearted jab at his stomach. He frowned and started walking back towards the main castle.

"_Where are you going?"_ she cried as she hurried to keep up with him.

"_I thought you wanted to learn."_ He shrugged, not looking at her.

"_I do!"_ She insisted.

He stopped. "_Then next time I ask you to do something, do it properly. If I'm going to help you then I have to know what you need to learn. So when I tell you to hit me as hard as you c – "_

She punched him in the stomach with all her strength, embarrassed that he thought she wasn't being a good pupil. He hunched slightly at the blow but smiled.

"_Okay, that's more like it, but a lot of the force from a punch comes from twisting your body."_

When she regained her wand she only considered stopping her practices with Jon for about two seconds. It was still a very useful set of skills for her to develop even if she _could_ just magically stun anyone who attacked her now. Besides, she liked spending time with Jon though she paid for it with a fair amount of bruises and blisters.

After Hermione's strength had grown and she had practiced the major strokes and cuts to Jon's satisfaction, he had finally taken up the wooden sword against her. After losing five bouts in the space of a minute, Hermione found herself growing frustrated. She wasn't annoyed at losing, that was to be expected, but she thought Jon might at least give her a chance instead of going into full battle mode.

"_Can we do some fight that is not so…hard?" _she suggested but Jon frowned.

"_If someone attacks you then they're not going to do it easily,"_ he argued.

"_Yes, but I will not be good if we do it this way. It ends too fast and I cannot learn." _Hermione held one hand up high. _"This is you. You are very good._" She put her other hand low to the ground. "_This is me. I am bad._" She brought her 'Jon' hand down about halfway. "_You be here so I can get better."_ She moved her 'Hermione' hand up a little. He seemed to understand because it took her four minutes to lose five bouts after that.

Her proudest moment though had come only a few days ago. Jon had told her to meet him in their usual spot in the godswood instead of escorting her there. She had thought nothing of it as she made her way through the trees in the watery light just after dawn.

A hand clamped suddenly over her mouth as someone tried to drag her away. Her heart in her mouth, her first thought was to reach for her wand but her arms were restricted by the attacker's grasp. She struggled furiously and bit down hard on the stranger's hand. There was a slight relaxation in their grip but it was enough for her to bring her heel back sharply between their legs. They let out a very pained grunt. She twisted out of their grasp and used the momentum to swing back with a hit that landed forcefully somewhere on their hooded face. They stumbled to the side and she launched a vicious kick at their knee as her hand groped in her cloak for her wand.

Her hand stilled just when her fingers grasped the wood as she recognised the voice that cried out in response to her kick. "_Jon?_" He pulled back the hood of the cloak with a grimace and she let out a huge sigh of relief.

"_Well done."_ He panted.

Jon had to tell people he'd fallen down some stairs to explain his bruised face and his limp. She was glad that nobody noticed her tender knuckles (though not as relieved as she was that she hadn't jinxed him).

Harry let out an irritated breath and opened his eyes, bringing her back to the present. "That bird is driving me mad." He muttered. "Do you want to have another try or head back?"

Hermione looked up at the cloudy sky, trying to gauge the time. "I think there seems to be enough light left to have one more go." She said, passing back her wand. She changed her position to get herself comfortable and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. It was nice to breath in the earthy, fresh air of the forest in contrast to the rather unsavoury smells that one found around Winterfell.

She went through her well-practiced routine to create her 'bubble'. She started at the tip of her toes, imagining them becoming weightless, disappearing into nothing. Slowly, she applied this to the rest of her feet, ankles, lower legs and knees until she could no longer feel them. The rest of her legs and torso eventually followed as well as her hands, arms, shoulders and neck. As it passed over her ears and nose her hearing and sense of smell were stifled. The bubble closed around her head and she felt nothing.

Now she just had to let her thoughts still and allow her brain to relax so that the initial link could be made with her animagus form.

Time never passed the way you expected it to when you were trying to still your mind. Sometimes she thought she'd lost her concentration after a few seconds though Harry would say it had been ages and other times it was the opposite.

Something in her lower back twitched.

"_Hermione!"_ Harry's voice burst urgently through her bubble and she cried out in alarm. His hand was on her shoulder and he was shaking her but when she opened her eyes he darted back in shock.

"What is it?" she asked breathlessly, as her body struggled to cope with the sudden onslaught of senses.

He stared at her. "I thought…" he began uncertainly then shook his head. "Someone's coming." He pulled her to her feet and looked over to where the sounds of approach came from.

Hermione put her hand to her head, feeling a little dizzy and confused after being ripped out of her 'bubble'. Had she done it? Did she make the connection? She had felt something, hadn't she? She put her hand on her lower back and tried to peer over her shoulder to see if there was anything there to give her a clue. As far as she could tell her back was still its normal self.

The sound of slow hoof beats brought her back to the current situation and she looked over to see Jon, Robb and Theon ride into the clearing. She relaxed slightly and Harry covertly passed over her wand so she could hide it in her cloak.

"_What are you three doing here?"_ Harry asked, striding forwards with a smile as the arrivals dismounted.

"_We have been dispatched by my dear sister, Sansa, to make sure that neither you nor Hermione are going to be absent for dance practice." _Robb grandly announced with a grin. "_She was rather insistent about it."_

Harry frowned, his posture somewhat less enthusiastic than before. He said something in response but Hermione didn't hear as Jon came to stand next to her with a look of concern.

"_Are you all right?_" He enquired. _"You look pale and,"_ he shook his head. "_You just don't look yourself."_

Conscious of what may or may not have happened a couple of minutes ago, Hermione dismissed his worries hurriedly. "_I'm fine, Jon; just a little cold. We have been here too long. It sounds like some dancing is just what I need._"

Jon moved to undo his cloak but before Hermione could stop him she found herself being draped in someone else's. She looked over her shoulder. "Oh, _Theon, thank you but it's not - "_

"_I will not hear of it, Hermione. Snow's right, you do look pale," _Theon said, his hands on her shoulders as he steered her towards her mount. "_We don't want you to catch a cold now, do we?"_

Her horse had been grazing peacefully with Harry's in the clearing while they had been practising their magic. It seemed that people in Westeros, or in the North as least, didn't name their horses but Hermione found it much easier to get on with the animals if she felt like she could talk to them – and she couldn't talk to something that didn't have a name. The horse she rode today (a bay mare with white markings), she had christened, Whisper, due to her gentle nature and she was one of Hermione's favourites.

Harry led both their horses by the reins but as they neared Hermione and Theon something seemed to spook them for they reared slightly and called out in distress, trying to get away. Theon moved forward to give Harry a hand but Hermione lingered nervously. She was a lot more confident with the horses than she was a few months ago, but they still gave her concern when they exhibited unsettled behaviour.

"_There's a good girl_," she said in her most soothing voice once Theon had settled her down. "_That's it, Whisper, well done._" Hermione moved closer but Whisper took a few sidesteps away from her. "_Easy girl_," she said, reaching out a hand to stroke her neck. She spoke slowly to the horse for a few more minutes, making sure to appear happy and relaxed.

"_I'll ride next to you in case the horse gets spooked again,_" Theon declared as he mounted his stallion.

"_Thank you,"_ Hermione said, knowing that he wouldn't be dissuaded. She climbed into her saddle and was relieved that Whisper seemed to be back to herself.

They started the ride back to Winterfell gently to give their horses the time to warm up. After those unsettling couple of minutes in the clearing, the rhythmic sway of the horse ride was very comforting.

Robb and Harry rode in front, talking and laughing about something she couldn't hear and Jon brought up the rear. Theon talked to her of his homeland of the Iron Islands and she listened with intrigue as he described Castle Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy.

He made her blush at one point by dismounting from his horse and picking some wild primroses. "_As beautiful as they are, the pale in comparison to your loveliness,"_ he said, leaving Hermione speechless. He kissed the back of her hand and she took the posy numbly. Glancing around, she could see that the other boys were watching her too and she wished she could disappear like she pretended to in her 'bubble'.

Something at the back of her mind seemed to warn her of the danger before she truly became aware of it. She looked around. One second the woods were empty apart from themselves – the next, it was swarming with a dozen wolves.

Their horses bolted in different directions with cries, accompanied by the shouts of the humans.

Hermione tried not to let her fear make Whisper even more panicked. She glanced over her shoulder for a split second and was dismayed to see that she was being pursued by four wolves. She thought she made out a horse even further behind but before she had time to be sure one of the wolves leapt up at her, its jaws barely an inch from closing around her ankle. She screamed, simultaneously hitching up her leg and drawing her wand. Another wolf drew level and she aimed at it. "_Stupefy_!" A jet of red light hit the wolf but Whisper was moving too fast for Hermione to see if it had truly worked. "_Stupefy_!" Another wolf was hit and the others seemed to give up the chase.

Before she could understand what was happening, Hermione found herself launched from Whisper's saddle as the horse cried in panic. The trunk of a very hard looking tree seemed to hurtle towards her but she knew it was the other way around. She had a split second to look down and see that the ground was suddenly sloping quite steeply downwards, which explained Whisper's abrupt halt.

Thankfully, her arms, shoulders and head missed the trunk but it caught her on her abdomen and hips with a burst of white-hot pain. The force of the blow twisted her body round and despite her pain she scrabbled furiously at the tree to gain some sort of purchase on it to slow her fall. As she made contact with the ground her legs buckled underneath her and the agony was such that the world turned dark in an instance.

* * *

A/N For some reason this was the easiest chapter of anything I've ever had to write. It made a nice change. There was quite a bit of back story here but we haven't actually heard from Hermione's pov for about 5 months. We skipped around a bit so I hope it didn't get too confusing.

I'm sure some of you are going to find the animagus thing wholly unlikely but JK Rowling said Hermione was a borderline genius so I'm pinning my hopes on that. I find it entirely creditable that Hermione would have read way ahead in her studies (yes, despite her crazy-busy third year). She wouldn't be able to do a fair amount of the advanced stuff but if she can remember the incantation then she's got a chance of getting it eventually.

Anyway, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

Lil Drop of Magic


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